


The Phi Timeline

by JiraiyaWhitney



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humanstuck, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 123,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiraiyaWhitney/pseuds/JiraiyaWhitney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave has lived a sheltered life. He doesn’t know the epic feel of swords cutting through air, through wood, smacking on skin and raising welts. He doesn’t understand the nasty feel of defeat or the joy of victory at three in the morning after nine hours of sparring only to land a single hit on a forearm. He doesn’t know the taste of weed on the first hit or how much different—better—it is on the second and the third but how it leaves an ashy feel in his mouth at the last of the bong to the point where it’s almost a requirement to drink some apple juice. He has never experienced the buzz he gets from the drug. Most of all, he doesn’t know what rape is. He doesn’t know the feeling of idiocy that accompanies this. He doesn’t know because, in the Phi Timeline, Dirk wasn’t there to teach him these things and beat his ass when he finds out about his liking weed (but not his addiction, no, Dave was never addicted, true and honestly to his heart).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ticking of the Metronome

                The fist meets his gut and he rolls out of the way, curling in on himself. His brother’s hands roll him back and spread his legs. He tips his head back in a silent scream as his foot smashes between them. In his pain, his brother yanks down his pants and slides in dry. Tears are already streaming, blood flowing and he stops fighting. His brother finishes, leaving his semen to slowly leak out, stinging at all the cuts and tears. He stays still, sniffling silently, waiting for the pain to pass just long enough to climb onto his bed. 

                His room is clean, devoid of wires, and has a single desk with his laptop perched on it. The room lacks puppets, has no turntables and definitely has no swords. He doesn’t know that this is disappointing. He doesn’t understand how it could possibly be. It’s just how it is. 

                This is his life if Dirk, who had been running an errand at the time, had not found him. In the Alpha Timeline, Dirk had run to get medicine for his ailing father. In this—the Phi Timeline—his father died in Desert Storm, therefore he never got sick and Dirk never had to run and get him medicine. He never found the child that destroyed his favorite recording company on the back of a meteor, never adopted the young albino boy, never showed him his form of love via sword-fighting, puppet ass and hand-grenades (fireworks). 

                Dave eventually pulls himself onto his bed, throws a towel on the blood and what little of his brother has slipped out. He lies on his front, closes his eyes and forces himself to sleep. He never quite makes it, however. 

  

                timeousTestified [TT] continued pestering goldenBoy [GB]  
TT: Are you ok?  
GB: why  
TT: You left the conversation almost an hour ago on “BRB” status, then immediately changed it to “AFK” status. You don’t usually do that less for dinner but it’s almost two in the morning. You don’t appear to be asleep, at least if you don’t have an auto responder. What’s up, bro?  
GB: nothing really  
GB: brother just wanted to talk  
TT: Talk?  
GB: yeah why  
TT: … an hour talk at two am on a Saturday morning.  
GB: yes  
GB: why is this concept so difficult for a genius such as yourself to comprehend???  
TT: I just don’t know any “brother” who talks with his younger brother at two in the morning, let alone for an hour.  
GB: he IS pretty weird at times….  
TT: How old are you?  
GB: i told you already  
GB: im not going to tell some random stranger i met on the internet  
GB: for all i know youre forty  
TT: I’m not forty. I’m not a stranger. I’m not trying to get into some kid’s bed. Honestly. All I am trying to do is find out a little more about you. I already know you’re from Houston, you’re still in school and you’re paranoid any time your brother is brought up. You go to some private school, get straight-As, can’t stand ironically good videogames like SnackAttack and everything that’s not-good-therefore-great.  
GB: i get it  
GB: if i tell you will you at least leave me alone  
TT: for now  
GB: …  
GB: you first  
TT: twenty-seven  
TT: Your turn, I presume.  
GB: …fourteen  
TT: Why do you go on drinking sites if you’re fourteen?  
GB: i like being drunk  
TT: You’re fourteen. What could possibly make you want to drink?  
GB: …  
GB: it makes me forget  
TT: Forget what, though?  
GB: im going to go to sleep now its kind of early and i have a study meeting today so i should get as much sleep as i can  
TT: Fine. I concede. I see I have not won this fight.  
TT: Message me if you’re still up in an hour.  
GB: ok  
TT: sleep well, kid  
GB: dont call me kid  
TT: then what should I call you?  
GB: david  
GB: dave  
TT: Nice to meet you, Dave.  
TT: I’m Dirk.  
TT: Your name sounds like some sort of crack whore.  
GB: go fuck yourself  
                goldenBoy [GB] ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]  
                goldenBoy [GB] began pestering timeousTestified [TT]  
GB: wipe that grin off your face  
TT: Grin? What grin? There was never any grin here.  
GB: night  
                goldenBoy [GB] ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]  
TT: night  
TT: <>  
                goldenBoy [GB] began pestering timeousTestified [TT]  
GB: <>  
                goldenBoy [GB] ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]  
TT: make up your mind, Dave  
TT: “kid” has a better ring to it  
                timeousTestified [TT] ceased pestering goldenBoy [GB]

                Dave doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t think he will. All he knows is that he wants to talk with Dirk ( _Dirk, what a weird name, Dirk, nice ring though, isn’t it some sort of sword?_ ) until he passes out but there is a pain in his gut. An undeniable pain, gut-clenching pain, not from the tears in his rectum, and it hurts. He doesn’t understand why, just that he is hyperventilating, wants to get as far away from him as possible and to never think of that again. He hates feeling empty after his brother is done with him, but he hates the pain even more than that. He thinks that if it didn’t hurt, he could stand the emptiness. He doesn’t think that will ever happen. He isn’t crazy (or is it stupid?) enough to trick himself into thinking that something like that couldn’t not-hurt. 

                He finally falls asleep around six in the morning. When he wakes, it smells of alcohol, a round clean-like scent like the bathroom after he bleaches the tub. There is a steady, relaxed but important, beep in his ears. He looks around to see his mother, with her beautiful brown hair pinned up like always. Her hand is clasped about his and her cheek rests on the bed. She mumbles in her sleep. 

                His father—balding, just under-sixty years, beer-gut-of-rum-and-cranberry-juice—walks in with two cups of coffee. He sets one down for his mother when she wakes and helps Dave sit up. The pain in his lower back rears its ugly head and he hisses until he can bear through the majority of it. His dad gives him a drink—sweet coffee with vanilla creamer—and he takes a deep, slow breath as he leans against the wall. His father sits on the bed. 

                “Where’s Matt?” Dave asks, glancing around. It could only be eight-thirty in the morning if they’re both still here and the older boy has never been good with being alone. 

                “With his friends at Stuart’s house. He left before we found you. We asked Mrs. Phillips to bring him here around nine. Who did this to you?” 

                “Did what?” 

                “Raped you.” 

                “What’s rape?” Dave has lived a sheltered life. He doesn’t know the epic feel of swords cutting through air, through wood, smacking on skin and raising welts. He doesn’t understand the nasty feel of defeat or the joy of victory at three in the morning after nine hours of sparring only to land a single hit on a forearm. He doesn’t know the taste of weed on the first hit or how much different—better—it is on the second and the third but how it leaves an ashy feel in his mouth at the last of the bong to the point where it’s almost a requirement to drink some apple juice. He has never experienced the buzz he gets from the drug. Most of all, he doesn’t know what rape is. He doesn’t know the feeling of idiocy that accompanies this. He doesn’t know because, in the Phi Timeline, Dirk wasn’t there to teach him these things and beat his ass when he finds out about his liking weed (but not his addiction, no, Dave was never addicted, true and honestly to his heart). 

                “It’s where someone forced you to have sex with them.” 

                “I don’t remember that.” 

                “The doctor said it’s been happening for a while now—years. You don’t remember?” 

                “No…” 

                “David, please don’t lie about this to protect him. We just want to keep you safe. Both you and your brother.” 

                “But… I don’t remember that… I- I don’t… Really….” 

                “Ok.” He sighs but nods, resting his hand on Dave’s knee. “Hey,” he adds, “you know that not only do we not care about your sexuality, we just want you to be happy and safe, right? You can talk to us.” 

                “I know, dad.” 

                “Is there anything we can do for you? Drink your mother’s coffee. I’ll share mine. You look like you need it.” He picks it up and sips at it. It’s sweet and tastes like a KitKat bar. He takes another drink, holding it in his mouth. The warmth spreads through his entire body when he swallows. He hums happily. “Is there anyone we can call? Any of your online friends? How about that Timmy-Prosecutor guy you’re always going on about?” 

                “No…. He’s, like, twenty-seven. That’d be weird. But can you call Mr. Feeny and tell him that I won’t be at my study session today?” 

                “Ok. Your mother brought your laptop for while we’re at work. We have to go soon, son. Anything else?” 

                “Why am I here? And where are my glasses?” 

                “Your mother found you around seven all bloodied and you weren’t responding at all. The doctors say you had lost a lot of blood. How are you feeling? And I think your mother has them in her purse. Why don't you look?” He turns his nose up at the prospect of having to fight his way through _that_ mess, but finds the faux-leather bag next to the woman's foot. He has trouble lifting it up from the awkward position on the bed, but he refuses to let his father help him up. The glasses are right on top, so he takes them out and puts them on, leaving the bag on the table rather than dropping it back down. He resolves not to move for the next half-hour. 

                “Light-headed, but the coffee is helping. I’ll take a nap while you’re at work, ok?” 

                “Sleep well. Message often.” 

                “I will.”  
                His father leans over and wakes his mom. She rubs at her eyes, his head and kisses his forehead. She says that she will get off early to see him and, hopefully, bring him home. She kisses him again and his father has to drag her away to take her home so she can get her car and go to work. 

                Dave immediately opens his PesterChum, logs back in when it kicks him out and opens Internet Explorer. He considers downloading a better client, but pushes the thought away. He checks e-mails, reads some manga updates and messages his mother when she checks up on him. 

  

                 timeousTestified [TT] began pestering goldenBoy [GB]  
TT: I see you have been on for a while.  
GB: i guess…  
TT: Are you ok?  
GB: yeah why  
TT: Seem distracted, you do.  
GB: thanks yoda  
GB: seriously why do you ask  
TT: you usually say something smart-assed when I ask that. It has me a little worried.  
GB: oh im just tired  
TT: Really?  
GB: yeah nurses arent letting me sleep.  
TT: Nurses?  
GB: in the hospital  
TT: why?  
GB: too long to type  
TT: Where?  
GB: why  
TT: Want to come see you  
TT: Finally meet you in person  
GB: a 27yo meeting a 14yo… prolly not the best thing to do considering why  
TT: why?  
GB: its sexual  
TT: So? I’m, like, your uncle or something.  
GB: whatever  
GB: if i give you the address will you figure it out  
TT: yea  
GB: **_goldenBoy has sent a google-maps link._**  
TT: I’ll be there as soon as possible.  
TT: It won’t be for a few hours, but I will be there. What room?  
GB: idk  
TT: ok.  
TT: <>  
GB: <>  
                timeousTestified [TT] ceased pestering goldenBoy [GB]  
                goldenBoy [GB] ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]

  

                Dave opens up a message board with his mom, telling her that he is asleep and not to panic if he doesn’t reply. She sends back “ok, sweet dreams, honey” and he logs out, closes the laptop, plugs it in the best he can and rolls over to sleep. 

  

                When he wakes, his brother is sitting at his side, reading a book in the Twilight series. Dave narrowly manages to figure out that it’s the last one—Breaking Dawn or some bullshit like that—before he glances up and closes the book on his finger. “I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly. It’s the only time he has ever heard Matt apologize, even after fourteen out of the other’s sixteen years of life, even to their parents (then again, he is the “perfect” child with perfect grades that Dave has to fight, tooth and nail, to keep up with so Matt never _has_ to apologize). He watches him dog-ear the page and set it where his coffee had been this morning. “If I had thought I was being that rough—well, I don’t know what I would do, but—but I would have stopped. You know that, right?” 

                “Obviously.” He smiles warmly at his brother. “And, apology accepted. I know you didn’t know. You just had a rough day.” 

                “But you didn’t even come.”  
                He shrugs back and rubs at his eyes, exhausted and tired of being in the hospital. He tries to keep the “good kid” act up in front of his family so they don’t worry, but in all honesty he hates being waited on, hand and foot, minute after minute. He’s not good with hospitals or being sick at all really. Of course, his parents can’t know this because that’s what they _do_ and Matt would have a heart attack if he thought that, for a moment, he disagreed with a split second of anything he thought. His parents have already done so much, adopting him as a child. He owes him at least this much. “S’ok. Was still good, if you ask me.”  
                “I kicked you in the balls.” 

                He doesn’t know how to make Matt feel better about it without lying, so he does so anyway. “Masochist.”  
                “You take that too far then.” He pauses, but adds after a second, “I didn’t know you like pain. You’re always flinching and stuff.” 

                “Don’t want to get a boner in front of mom and dad. Fuck, I would _die_ if that happened.” 

                Matt throws his head back and laughs. He waits for a moment afterward, his smile still cheeky and full-faced, to say “mom and dad will be here soon. Coupl’a hours, at most.” Dave nods and sits up, struggling to do so. Matt is immediately at his side, trying to help him, but he turns it down in favor of doing it himself. His older brother has a look of shame on his face as he sits back down. 

                Matt’s luscious brown hair (luscious, yes, because he uses women’s shampoo and conditioner, but it’s not like his parents could ever know, no, no, no, but Dave uses the shampoos they buy anyway so it’s fine) that’s usually so perfectly styled looks to have had hands constantly raking through them. His eyes look tired and his shoulders look barely released from the heaviness of a thought that has obviously plagued him for a while now. Dave leans forward, ignoring the tug of the stitches in his anus as he styles his hair back into place. His gentle green eyes (from their mother, their father has brown and he has red, but it’s not like it matters, he’s adopted after all) smile for the first time in the conversation and he smiles back, not retracting his hand until Matt’s lips agree. 

                The door opens ten minutes later in the middle of a story about Stuart, a trampoline, and a poorly aimed jump into a pool. Luckily, all the kid got was a thick, red weal on his stomach from a well-aimed belly-flop that had resulted of his efforts to make a dive. The man who walks in is tall—that’s the only real way to describe him. He _looks_ eighteen, but he has this sense of self-confidence that makes him _feel_ older. He has blond hair, spiked at the back like a hat had just been on his head, and a white short-sleeve shirt. He wears a pair of black (black as _fuck_ ) jeans with a chain hooked from the front to the wallet in the back pocket. He has muscles that ripple, too. Thick biceps, well trained torso, pure _sex_ on a man’s body. Over his shoulder, he carries a bag that _chings_ every time he steps, like metal is sliding against metal. Dave wonders what could possibly be in there to make those noises. He thinks that he doesn’t want to know at the same time. 

                “Dave?” He asks. He has a deep, baritone voice that resonates in his chest. 

                “Dirk?” He replies. There’s a pause—a long, heart retching pause—before the older man puts his bag down and sits on the chair opposite of Matt’s. He kicks his shoes on his bed (worn, old, they look handmade but comfortable, well-loved) and crosses his ankles. He does it with the precise motions of someone completely comfortable in his own skin and in the presence of someone he has never met before. Then again, they have met before. There’s that sort of companionship that accompanies two people who have talked (online, but talked nonetheless) with each other for three years now. 

Three years ago, they had been discussing pros and cons of batbites, which rum is best to use (Bacardi’s, Dave’s opinion) on a public chat room, which they brought to PesterChum when the moderator asked them both to leave for “hogging the board”. No one else seemed to mind. Now, three years later, finally meeting this man feels completely different. It’s amazing. He loves it. In a bro-way of course. 

                “Sup.” 

                “Same ol’. Sup wit’chu.” 

                “Same ol’.” 

                “Cool same ol’ or ironic same ol’.” 

                “Same ol’ same ol’.” 

                “Rad man.” 

                “I have no idea what is going on here,” Matt admits. “But, um, mom is calling.” He motions to his phone in his hand. “I’ll be out in the hall. Call if you need me. You know what I mean. Don’t give me that look.” 

                “Look? What look? There was never any look here.” Matt laughs and flips him off, answering the phone as he steps out of the room. He can hear her high-pitched (morphed via phone line) voice through the speaker as he walks out. He waits for the door to close before completely collapsing against the wall. 

                “You seem agitated, li’l’ man.” 

                “Too many people waiting on me,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Family included.” 

                “Noticed. That your brother.” It takes a while for him to notice, but Dave quickly realizes that Dirk doesn’t change his voice—at all. When he’s asking a question, his voice keeps the same level sound. Dave wonders how long it would have taken him to notice if not for the fact that they have known each other for so long. He decides it doesn’t matter, just like the weird isosceles-triangle-sunglasses on his face don’t. 

                “Yeah. Matthew. Fuckin’ weirdo, man.” 

                “He’s the one that did this to you.” It’s not a question. Dave can tell, somehow in his gut, like he can with each ticking second like that fucking metronome mom makes him use when he plays piano, that he knows automatically. Dave wonders how, exactly, this works out so that he does know but at the same time, he thinks he’s pretty obvious. Dirk is fucking smart, that’s how. 

                “I’ll be out soon,” he reasons. “What tipped you off?”  
                “Been wonderin’ for a while. Your bro talkin’ to you for an hour last night and you winding up in the hospital the next day on some obscure ‘sexual’ thing that you still have yet to tell me, it adds up, bro. Seriously. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Not rocket science or anything.” 

                “What do you think about it?” 

                “Honestly or in that stupid ironic I-need-someone-to-back-me-up-on-this way you sometimes have about you when you’re doin’ something stupid—like drinking, kid. Don’t fuck your body up already. You still got your—“ 

                “Whole life, whatever. Honestly.” 

                “It’s fucked up.”  
                “Seriously, bro. I need the meat to understand the packaging. It’s written in Chinese or something. I can’t tell if it’s duck or chicken and I don’t want to taste it first to find out it’s the wrong kind. You’re my translator here. Speak your mystical Chinese-English bullcrap.”  
                “I know Japanese.” 

                “So do I. Thus the analogy is redundant. I don’t know Chinese and, hell, that’s what you’re practically written in right now.” 

                “I’m a Strider. Striders don’t show useless things. Like what you’re trying to read out of me, for example.”  
                “Just fuckin’ tell me why you think it’s fucked up.” 

                “Brothers shouldn’t be fucking _fucking_ their—damn it, repetitive, they shouldn’t be fucking their siblings. Simple as that. There’s a reason why it’s illegal. And incestuous. It just doesn’t work out that way. It’s disgustin’, even more so because you _let_ him. How long has this been goin’ on.” 

                “You can’t tell my parents. They would have a heyday if you did.” 

                “I don’t think that word means what you think it means. Still, it’s not like I fuckin’ care what you do with your brother, s’just my opinion. I can’t make you stop. Now, answer me.” 

                “I dunno… he’s sixteen now… and it starts as a birthday gift thing… so four years?” 

                “Since you were ten.” 

                “Yeah.”  
                “Ten.”   

                “Mmmhmm.” 

                “Your birthday or his.” 

                “His.” 

                “So, nine.” 

                “His birthday is after mine.” 

                “Ten.” 

                “Yeah, bro. Why’re you so confused?” 

                “You were fuckin’ _ten_ when you were fuckin’. S’just wrong. I can understand twelve or something, somewhat, still wrong, but _ten_?” 

                Dave doesn’t miss the infliction of his voice. It’s impossible for him not to, though anyone else, he’s sure, would have. He wonders just what happened to Dirk to make him so set-in-stone about this, but at the same time he knows it’s wrong (it’s disgusting, more so because it’s two men than because they’re brothers because, really, he’s adopted, and if they could have any chance of reproducing, nothing fucked up would come of that). Dirk is usually the one that doesn’t care about something, let’s things be things, people be people, bygones be bygones and the like _unless_ someone fucks with one of his friends. Still, they’re hardly “friends” and by “fucks” he means “messes with” not literal fucking. 

                “Not a big fuckin’ deal, bro.” 

                “It pretty much is, Dave. You were _ten_ when he started takin’ advantage of you.”  
                He doesn’t tell him that he only met Matt when he was eight, only got _officially_ adopted out of foster care when he was nine, and that he can remember every single time Matt fondled him, molested him or even just managed to pin the blame for breaking something on him to their parents, getting Dave in trouble and getting Dave grounded. It’s horrible. 

                “Dirk,” he laughs lightly, smiling gently at the soft look of emotion behind the too-dark glasses. He wonders if anyone else would notice the flicker of his eyes behind that and why he did, but there’s something natural to it—something he can’t explain. “Seriously. It’s ok.” 

                “It’s not _ok_ , but fine, whatever floats your boat.” 

                “’Ve had worse, bro. Anyway, what did you do today? Work at that mysterious why-do-I-need-to-know place?” 

                “As always. Why you ask.”  
                “Change the subject. What’s your job anyway?” 

                “Why do you need to know?” 

                “You know about my brother and me. Why not?” 

                “Got two jobs,” he explains. “One’s as a DJ, the other is at a sword place.” 

                “Sword place.” 

                “Mmhmm.”  
                “Is that what’s in your bag?” 

                “You heard the shuffling?” This infliction sounds impressed. He’s proud to have gotten that much out of him over such a little amount of time, but he hopes he doesn’t show it. Dirk crosses his arms over his chest and adds the start of a smirk to the edge of his lips. 

                “Yeah. Pretty damn loud.” 

                “Your brother didn’t notice.”  
                He shrugs. Dave is positive that Matt heard it because, really, seriously, it was pretty loud. It was like the ticking of the metronome in his body, marking each second, each _tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic_ marking him being a second older and a second more and more. No one hears his metronome but him, no one understands it when he grows a fond look on his face as he looks at a clock or when he finishes doing something in half the time it normally takes. Even he doesn’t understand. Time is just something he has always been fond of. “So, what” Dave finally says, pushing the thought of time away from him. “Are you, like, some sort of janitor or something?” 

                “Why do you say janitor.” 

                “Because there is no way in hell you’re epic enough to know how to swordfight.”  
                “Ironically, I do.” 

                Damn. Foiled again. He smirks though, matching the older man’s. “Irony has nothing to do with it. Pure dumb luck.” 

                “Luck isn’t dumb.” 

                “Ironically, it is.”  
                The grin on Dirk’s face grows and he arches a brow in acceptance. Dave thinks that if they were the same age, they would be the best of friends. Now, though, Dirk starts to rap. He matches him, beat for beat, word for word, and while he’s not very good at it, not yet at least, he’s still able to somewhat keep up with him. Dirk obliges the small pauses—for now—and Dave promises himself that he will get better between one tick of the metronome to the next. 

                Because, after all, in the Phi Timeline, Dirk was not there to teach it to Dave from birth. Therefore, he has to make one simple allowance, but that doesn’t mean Dave wants to accept the pity so readily. Dirk has always been good with manipulating people and getting what he wants, but Dave has always been good with time and learning new things quickly. There’s a reason why he’s in a school equivalent to college. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dirk is still there when his mother and father finally manage to drag Matt back into the room. Dave is relieved to find that the other boy wanted to give them the privacy they “needed” in order for them to just hang. They’re still in the flow of the rap war and Dave only falters when his mom calls his name and flings her arms around him. He lets her, not wanting to make her mad by pushing her off. He doesn’t particularly thirst for her embrace, though. He doesn’t like the feel of soft skin or the feel of boobs against him. He doesn’t thirst for his father’s hug, either, but he likes the feel of Matt’s rough, callused skin (even if he does use women’s shampoo) and hard muscles. He must just be weird, though, because Johnny says that it’s unusual (wrong) for guys to like each other’s hugs if they’re not particularly close. Matt and he are anything but close. It’s just that those moments—brief ones, mere milliseconds between the ticking of the metronome—where he has to wrap him in his arms to readjust a position or to hold his hands back from jerking himself or to keep himself from coming, those are the best. Those moments are what Dave makes it think it’s worth it not to tell anyone. 

Dirk stands up without finishing out the “stanza” (what are they even called in raps? He doesn’t know\--Dirk wasn’t there to teach him the nuances, he doesn’t comprehend that it’s wrong that he doesn’t know). The state of Dirk’s shoulders makes everyone in the room immediately relax as he reaches his hand out to shake his father’s. His father takes it. 

“Dirk Strider,” he explains. “I’m a friend of your son.” 

“Don’t be so formal, Dirk,” his mother smiles as she takes his hand. He smirks, barely, and manages a “Marissa” in what is, as Dave has thus figured out, considered a laugh on the older man. “How do you two know each other?” 

“We met online.” He replies. “Though I had no idea you two are related until now. It’s been a while since you have come by. You’re not interested in sword fighting anymore?” 

“Oh, no, no, I gave that up when we first got Dave. But I think we should spend more time together. It’s been so long!” 

Matt catches his eye and he turns to watch as the older boy lifts his hand and points, violently, into his mouth with a fake gag noise. Their father turns around at it, but Matt has already lowered his hand and appeared normal again. He turns around and Dave smirks at him, rolling his eyes overdramatically. Their father asks to speak with Dirk and his mom out in the hall and the three leave them to their devices. 

“I haven’t seen him before,” Matt says. “What grade is he in? Is he a senior?” 

“He’s just a friend. And he’s, like, twenty-seven man.” 

“Seriously? Whoa. Dude, I know what we can do so that no one asks any further into it and asks about—us. You know…. _Us_ ….”

“Uh… what?” 

“We can blame it on him!” 

“ _No_!” He shakes his head violently. “He’s my _friend_ , Matt! If- if you do that, I will _never_ forgive you! And _we’ll_ never happen again.” 

“Ok, ok, fine, I won’t. I promise.” 

“Swear on your life.” 

“I swear on my life I will never tell mom or dad that Mr. Strider raped you.” 

“Thank you.” He gestures him over and Matt smiles. He rests his hand on the top of his head, instead of around his shoulders for the hug that Dave wants, and Matt leans down, kissing him. His tongue slips in before he can say anything otherwise and his hands fist in his shirt. He silences the gasp as his tongue flicks over the roof of his mouth, pulling away. The steam of saliva breaks on his chin and he stares, blearily, up at his older brother. He smirks back, brushes his thumb over his cheek and dives in again. He rests his free hand between his legs and palms him. Dave pushes him away as the door opens and he ducks his head to keep his blush out of sight. Matt merely makes a quick laugh and rubs the top of his head like any older brother would under different circumstances, standing back. Dirk bends over and grabs the swords. He hugs his mom for a moment, shakes his father’s hand and gives him a two-fingered salute, saying he has to get to work. Dave offers up a slight goodbye. 

“What are you boys talking about?” His dad asks as he sits down in the chair Dirk had vacated only a few moments before. He’s classy enough not to kick his feet up onto the clean sheet. His mom snuggles up next to him on the bed and wraps her arms around him. He’s careful about where to put his legs to avoid showing them the erection Matt’s handling caused. 

“This girl he likes,” Matt laughs. “Her name’s Brittany. Evidently she’s the most ‘beautiful thing in the world’,” he mocks, grinning. Dave mutters the obligatory “I should murder you” as he hides his face in his hands. At least now, if the boner is caught, there is a good reason to blame it on. 

His parents leave half an hour later to buy them dinner and Matt is over him the first moment he can be, his hand pulling and yanking on his length. His lips work against Dave’s, tongue expertly tweaking the spots that make him moan. He’s _right fucking there_ when they return and Matt is back to pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Huh,” he mutters, innocently. “I guess the fever was all in my imagination.” 

“You’re just worried for your brother,” his mom answers as he sits back and hands him a sandwich. Dave gets one, too, and he smiles as he tears into that, leaving the apple juice for later (because, after all, even in different universes, some things don’t change). 

“I still say Matt has horrible breath.” 

“Whatever, hospital-breath.” 

He sticks his tongue out and grins triumphantly as Matt blushes and rips into his own ham and cheese sandwich. Their parents laugh, not understanding the true conversation, and Dave shifts again, tenting his legs so the sheet isn’t over his groin. After dinner, Matt (who is alone on his side of the bed since their parents are practically in the same seat across the room) reaches under and wraps his hand around him. Dave falters, mid-sentence, and the gentle tap on his dick barely manages to remind him to continue on. He clears his throat and does so. 

He is right _fucking there, right there, oh God, don’t you dare stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck, fuck, fuck_ when Matt stops and pulls his hands free. Dave rubs his eyes and silences the moan as his parents pull Matt out to see if he can go home now. Matt stalls, says he wants to make sure he doesn’t forget anything now rather than later and makes a show of checking for his driver’s permit, his phone, his keys—and the door closes as his parents tell him to catch up. Matt closes his hand around his erection, pulls twice and he whimpers into his mouth, already begging. 

“Don’t you dare finish yourself,” he hisses into his ear, breathlessly, and pulls him in time with the threat to keep him hard. “You have to wait.” 

“F-fu- please, please, oh God, please Matt, please….”

“Begging will get you nowhere.” 

“Matt, please, please, I’m right there.” 

“You have to wait.” 

“But it _hurts._ ” 

“Wa~ _it_.” 

“Bu-bu- please, please, I’m right _there_.” 

Matt takes Dave’s hand and presses it to his crotch, letting him feel the pulsing heat beneath the heavy jeans. He leaves a lingering kiss on his lips as he says “look what you do to me.” 

“Please let me cum, please, please.” 

“No. And you don’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you do.” 

“Matt.” 

“No. I gotta go now. You better still be hard when I get back.” He nods helplessly and fists his hands in the sheet. He tents his knees again, hiding the hard, hard, hardness and the pain. He bites his lip and furrows his brow, waiting for them to return. Luckily, they return quickly. 

“Go ahead and change, sweetie,” his mom says as she puts his clothes right on top of his dick. He winces at the sudden pressure and his breath stutters out. They don’t notice. “We’ll be outside when you’re done.” 

“I’ll just help you stand,” Matt replies. “You can change on your own, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

They wait for the door to close. He wraps his arms around Matt’s neck as he stands him up, all the while humping his leg. He bites his shoulder (something that can be explained later, be it necessary) and whimpers when Matt holds him just far enough away to not reach. “Wait for it,” he instructs and leaves. Dave nearly collapses to his knees. He has to come, he has to come now. He doesn’t care what his brother will do, he just _has to fucking come._ He whimpers at the bruise on his penis, though, and remembers the last kick he got for “betraying” him. He resolves to play along (the pain, the pain, the pain, _pleasepleaseplease_ ) and looks around for his clothes. They’re where Dirk’s feet used to be. He thinks of the disapproving tone he had, the nonexistent glint beneath his sunglasses, and bites the mattress as he breathes out. 

This is incest. Pure and simple. The thought of something so socially-illegal quells the urge long enough for him to untie the hospital gown and pull the underwear and jeans on. The pressure aches and he bites his hand to keep from calling out. The pressure makes him withhold a groan and he carefully readjusts himself. He pulls on a shirt, relieved when it’s accidently one of Matt’s and is, therefore, a little too long on him. He opens the door to let them in and sits back down, unsure if he can leave yet. The three of them enter and Matt keeps his eyes down and away from him. In behind them walk two men dressed in black suits. It takes a while to realize one is a woman. 

“We’re from the Houston Police Department,” she explains. “We need to take the statement regarding your rape.” 

“That’s gonna be hard.” 

“Why do you say that, son?” The man asks. 

“I don’t remember it.” 

“Now, son, let me tell you now that you cannot protect him. This man has to be brought to justice.” 

“No, really.” He says and he switches to that innocent persona he created back when he was a foster child and everyone blamed him for everything. “I _don’t_ remember it.” 

Still, they insist on questioning him. He answers truthfully. No I don’t remember it. Really. Yes I’m sure. I woke up at, I think, eight thirty ish. Dad said I was found at seven. I don’t know. I remember getting home late though. Friend’s birthday party. No, he lives down the street. I walked home. Alone, of course, why do I need someone with me? I’m fourteen. No, I, I really don’t remember the walk, but it’s a short walk. Yes I’m sure. Of course I’ll call if I remember anything else. Thank you, officers. I- I’m really grateful for what you are doing for me. Thanks. Bye. 

They can finally leave. He tells his parents that he’ll wait for real dinner (lasagna, his mom says, with salad) in his bedroom. Matt says, after he’s almost completely out of the room, that he’ll follow them to see if something’s wrong. Matt locks the door behind him and kneels over him, sitting on his knees, pawing at his shirt and shoving his tongue as deep as he can down his throat. 

“Thanks for not telling them that it’s me,” Matt whispers as he bites at his neck. 

“But it’s not rape,” he grumbles, his hands tight on the bed for a second to keep from touching himself. “I want this too.” 

Matt offers a breathy smile before biting again. “You want to get off?” 

“Fuck, please, please, yes.” 

“Then suck me off.” 

“But- but you’re not even hard.” 

“Fix that.” 

He nods and they trade positions. He kneels down in front of him, undoes the button and the zipper and tugs everything down to his knees. Surprisingly, he’s somewhat hard, and it makes making him harder even easier. He licks him as soon as he is and sucks the head into his mouth. He licks at it, kissing, moaning when it is completely in his mouth, groaning as he stills his gag reflex and takes him all the way back. The position is awkward and the taste is horribly sour but fuck him if his dick didn’t twitch and he didn’t get that much harder. 

He gasps as Matt pushes him away, pawing at his pockets. “What, what?” 

“Who the fuck is calling you?” He answers. Dave takes a pause to notice and listen to the song before he pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it away. 

“PesterChum. Ignore it.” 

“Wait, lay down.” 

He does so and Matt kneels over him, pulls his pants off. He bites into his hand to keep from calling out and gasps as his mouth takes in the tip of him. Matt’s dick smacks his cheek and he pulls him down, taking him into his mouth again. Matt’s teeth drag along his dick and his legs spaz as he forces himself not to bite down. Matt’s not good at this—at all—and he can barely even bring him into his mouth. But the pressure is too much after too little and he doesn’t even care. His fingernails dig into Matt’s thighs as he forces himself to wait until he’s told he can come. Matt, however, doesn’t even give him warning. He starts thrusting into his throat until, at last, he come, pouring down his throat. 

He pulls away and rolls over on the floor. Dave fists his hands in the carpet as he writhes in painful pleasure. He thrusts up, meeting only air. He nearly touches himself, but catches Matt’s look at last and fists his hand in his shirt. 

“Boys?” His mom calls out as he thrusts up, in the air. He chokes on his tongue. “Are you ok in there?” 

“Yeah mom,” Matt calls without missing a beat. “We’re fine! Just, talking. Bro-talk. You can’t hear this; it’s a breach of the bro-code.” 

Dave whimpers as his hand presses into his pelvis, pushing him down, not even letting him thrust. “Are you ok, Dave? What’s wrong? Why are you whimpering?” 

Matt sticks him with a “you got yourself into this mess” look and smirks as he touches everywhere _but_ his dick. 

“A-ah, t-tripped a few m-m-m-minutes ago!” He answers, hardly able to form the words. He tries to thrust into Matt, but only barely brushes his shirt. He takes it, though, and thrusts again. Matt smirks and pulls the shirt back, letting him thrust again. He hits only air, but his hands come up and dig into his back. Matt pushes his shirt off soundlessly and bites into his shoulder. He barely keeps the gasp hidden. “H-hit my face! It just- just hurts a little. I’ll be able to come- to come out soon, k-kay? I don’t think it’ll bruise.” 

“Ok, honey. Be careful.” 

“Uhhuh.” 

She walks away and Dave wraps his legs around Matt’s hips. He thrusts again and again, tears bundling in his eyes as he silently begs to come. Matt lifts his hand and sticks two fingers into his mouth. Dave sucks on them as Matt drops his body. Pure pressure, the kind where he can’t move an inch, envelopes him, and he thinks this is even worse than before. But the fingers play with his tongue and he sucks as hard as he can. The feeling goes straight to his groin and somehow, that fucker knows just when to stop. 

It takes him a while to notice it, but his phone is ringing. It’s the same tone for his PesterChum. He wants to scream. It’s probably Dirk anyway. He forcefully grabs Matt’s hand off the ground and the older boy jumps at the sudden display of strength. He sticks the fingers back in his mouth and hums around them. The tears in his eyes change what he sees through his slit eyes and he swears—swears—that he sees a thicker Adam’s Apple, tanner skin with miniscule freckles and _blond hair_. 

“Don’t you dare come,” he mutters and he wants to scream as he clenches again, barely stopping it. He writhes again, begging quietly into his skin to let him come. 

“Dinner’s ready!” 

He wants to scream as Matt does up his pants, then turns to him. He maneuvers the too-hard dick using the slit and a single finger. The tears are harder now, and he’s arching into every single inch he can, trying so fucking hard. He doesn’t give him back his underwear, instead fixing the pants over him so that his head is sticking out. The shirt is repositioned and he is instructed to stand. He ruts as best as he can against the air between them as Matt continues to torture him. “Dinner time, lil bro,” he answers, fixing his hair. 

“Please let me come, please let me come,” he begs. Matt clicks his tongue, says that that’s not dinner-language and smacks his cheek lightly. The pain goes to his dick and he bites his tongue, throwing his head back. He narrowly manages to calm enough to form a coherent sentence before Matt drags him to dinner. It’s a silent ordeal, done quickly and he asks to be excused as quickly as he can be. His mom allows it, says she needs to talk to him before he goes to sleep and to come out before he does. He nods and absconds, his limbs shakily forced to stop limping. 

He immediately sheds his clothes and nearly locks the door, instead hiding in his closet and waiting for Matt to find him. He has to wait ten minutes listening to nothing but the blood in his ears, his own breathing and the gentle chime of PesterChum updating, but he eventually does come in. Dave hears the door lock before his door slides open and he is instructed to open his mouth. He does so, fully expecting his fingers only to start when it’s a new sponge from in the bathroom—wetted, thankfully. A belt wraps around his lips, silencing him. Matt holds his hands behind his back as he ruts, the tears falling in full streams now. He can’t bear to look at himself, but Matt pulls out their mother’s hand mirror, showing him how bedraggled and wanton he looks. Matt fixes his hands on the shelf in his closet, says not to move them, and he cries as he tries not to come. Out of his drawers, Matt pulls a pair of red pajamas and a red shirt. He instructs him to stay silent and—yet again—not to come as he pulls the pants on and fixes the drawstring over his dick. He whimpers into the sponge, no sound emitting at all. He tries to push it out, but the belt keeps it in place. 

“Silence,” he grumbles, undoes the belt and does it around his ribs. He puts the sponge between his dick and his pelvis, making it soak up the steady flow of precum. He pulls the shirt on him. “You’re going to go talk to mom and find out what she needs to tell you. Then, when you get back, you will immediately take off your shirt and your pants, get on all fours and stick your ass in the air for me. Understand.” 

He nods, wordlessly, and blinks blearily as he bites his hand, trying to calm. His fist meets his abused cheek and he growls “ _do you understand_?” 

“Y-yes. Matt, please, please, promise me you’ll let me come, please.” 

“I will.” 

“Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.” 

“This isn’t the end of it. Go talk to your mother.” 

“Going.” 

He limps into the living room to find his mother in the dining room, biting her lip. He slides in, trying to take a deep breath, but the belt makes it impossible to. He twitches and the sponge is freezing against him in the way that it’s not as hot as him but it’s still warm. “Honey,” she says softly and hands him a tube of gel. “B-Because of where these injuries are, you have to spread this on them every night before you go to sleep and every morning when you wake up. I-If you need help, pl-please don’t be shy. It’s for your own good. The stitches will disintegrate when it’s their time, but only if the wound itself is healed. Your father and I will be happy to help you.” 

“If I do this myself, can we pr-promise to never speak of this again?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then I’ll do it myself. Night.” 

“Good night baby.” 

He nearly runs to his bedroom. He locks the door as he notices Matt on his bed, flipping through his phone. He scowls at what it says and hits a few buttons. Dave flings the shirt as far away from himself as he can, the pants next and does as he was told. The sponge flops down, bouncing on the ground. Matt picks it up, places it in his mouth and does a second belt around his mouth, leaving the first around his chest. He begs for release, the tears left unchecked as Matt flings one leg over him and sits down on his back. “Parade me around like a dog.” 

He moves slowly, leaves the ointment behind and walks him around the room. He tugs on the belt on his chest at points, making him stop breathing entirely. At times like these, he thrusts, his head tipped to the ground. He can practically taste his orgasm and it doesn’t help that the sponge sopped up the taste of his spunk, mixing in with Matt’s. Finger nails dig into his thighs as he goes until he collapses. Matt ruts against him twice before the smooth feel of warm come finds its way onto his back. He whimpers, sobbing into the sponge. It’s only answered when a single finger thrusts into his anus, tugging at the stitches. The carpet begins to rip beneath his fingers and he opens his eyes to find his phone half-way across the room, still ringing with PesterChum’s notices. As he stands on all fours again, Matt begins to massage his back. He can feel the sticky cum being massaged in, becoming part of him, and he shudders as he continues on. He’s nearly to his phone when Matt stands up, accidently batting it under his bed as he does so. 

“Hands behind your back. Rest on your shoulders.” He does as ordered and cringes as something tightens around his wrists. Enough for the pressure and the restraint, but it’s like the blood in his hands don’t even notice the presence. He thinks it might be a robe sash, but doesn’t find it in himself to care. “Roll onto your back,” he instructs. He does so, laying his head aside to see under the bed. His hands make it awkward, but they also thrust his hips into the air. Matt reappears with the ointment. 

“You can come as soon as I touch your dick,” he explains. Dave glances down to make sure he isn’t lying, only to see his bed is dark purple and looks as painful as it is. He kicks his feet, rubbing the bottom on the carpet as Matt opens the ointment and, slowly, begins to spread it inside of him. His head falls away again. 

_TT: seriously, though  
TT: if I find out that your brother is fucking you right now instead of you messaging me, I swear to God,_

He doesn’t even read the rest of it before his eyes slip shut. Suddenly, it’s Dirk’s fingers in him. It’s Dirk’s deep voice ordering him to stay still, Dirk’s free hand wrapping around his legs around his neck, Dirk’s lips kissing his head as he says “uh, uh, uh, lips and tongue don’t count.” He’s sobbing uncontrollably by the time he licks a long line up the bottom of his shaft and blows. His legs tighten and he thrusts up, desperate. Matt finally pulls his fingers out from him and sucks on his head before reaching out to jerk him. 

His hand has barely wrapped around him before he’s screaming into the sponge, sobbing out Dirk’s name. He comes so hard a bit of it lands on his eyelid, another on his jaw, and he’s thrusting as hard and fast as he can into his hand. Most of it lands on his chest, though, and Matt takes what he can on his fingers, massaging it into his nipples. He sobs more, his legs tightening as he doesn’t let up. “ _This_ ,” he answers as he pinches with his nails, “ _is no way to thank me. Do not cry_.” 

He sobs again and nods, trying to get him to take the belt off. Matt catches on, though, and he undoes it, letting him push the semen-free sponge out of his mouth with his tongue. He gasps out long strings of “thank you”s as soon as he has caught his breath from the second punch to his cheek. Everything aches. Everything is too light to care. 

“Hey, lil bro,” Matt finally lets up when he realizes that he’s crying in relief. “You’re not done yet.” 

He glances down and marvels. This is, what now, the third time tonight? He goes to sit up, but Matt stops him, instructing him to roll. Dirt already clings to his back where Matt came earlier and now his front, too, as he rolls around and takes him in his mouth. He comes relatively quickly and Dave leans back to swallow as he watches. Matt punches him a third time, says that it’s disgusting and bites into the belt around his chest. He flails as the sponge is replaced. 

“You know how tomorrows Sunday, right?” He nods. “You know how mom and dad are both working?” Again, he nods. “Do you know who is going to be woken up at seven tomorrow and not allowed to come until eight tomorrow night?” 

His eyes widen and he whimpers as he shakes his head hurriedly. Matt easily tugs his blanket down and lays him on his front. He fixes his ankles like he did his hands and fastens them to the footrest before tugging the blanket up over his mouth. He sucks on the sponge in hopes to speak, but all it manages to do is get the taste of his brother’s spunk thicker in his mouth. The door closes and he shuts his eyes, knowing there is nothing he can do to stop this. 

But… did he really just come to the thought of Dirk? He whimpers at the thought of both that and tomorrow, but reasons he only did that because of how far gone he was. 

He dreams while he can, each of them suspiciously filled with Dirk. 

He doesn’t know until much, much later ( because Dirk wasn’t there to teach him how to predict the next movements of his enemy or of fate in general) that this is only the beginning. 


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes to a gentle hand on his back, slowly soothing him awake. Matt is smiling now, warmly, that kind he did when he was still little and before he started molesting him and learned that he wouldn’t tell. Matt carefully undid the tie on his wrists, letting his arms fall free. He gasps and whimpers as they come apart, unable to support himself on them yet. The tie on his feet comes next. He sits him up gently and undoes the tie on his mouth, tipping the glass of water into his mouth. Dave struggles to make his hands work, but through the pain he manages to get his hand to his mouth and to swallow the cup immediately. Matt seems to have thought of this, though, and hands him a second with a small smile as he undoes the leather belt from his back. It sticks and makes a noise as it slowly gets peeled from his skin with an accompanying moan. 

“C’mon,” Matt smiles as he nudges him onto his feet. He reaches to grab a pair of pants, but Matt shakes his head. “Mom and dad are gone. They left breakfast. Pancakes. Let’s go.” 

He nods and silently follows him, chewing on his lip. He feels exposed being out of his room or the bathroom completely naked and Matt has him sit on the kitchen chair as he begins portioning out the breakfast. He wraps his ankles around the chair legs and thanks him quietly as he is handed his pancakes and bacon. Matt sits across from him, puts syrup on first and haphazardly adds a dollop of butter on top. He goes in the opposite order, like any sane person, and eats quietly. 

“Can I shower before we p-play?” He asks quietly. Matt laughs at his word choice and nods. He thanks him quietly, washes his dishes when he’s done and goes to shower. He doesn’t bother grabbing any clothes, but he does grab his phone (the battery is almost dead, not quite dead but almost). He opens up his PesterChum app and turns on the water as he pees, letting it load. He flushes, making the water too-hot-to-touch-fuck-what-is-this-Hell?-hot. He waits for it to cool a little as he flicks through the conversation Dirk had attempted to have with him. 

timeousTestified [TT] began pestering goldenBoy [GB]  


**TT: Message has been successfully deleted  
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TT: fuck you too bro  
TT: the least you could have done was say “busy”

timeousTestified [TT]  ceased pestering goldenBoy [GB]  
goldenBoy [GB]  began pestering timeousTestified [TT] 

GB: im really sorry for not replying to you last night  
GB: you didnt deserve something as selfish as that  
GB: can i make it up to you?  
GB: rather do it in person but if you dont reply by seven tonight ill just type it all out.  
GB: sorry  
GB: <>?????  


goldenBoy [GB]  ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT] 

He steps into the shower and downright moans as the hot water cascades down his back. It soothes tired, torn muscles and massages itself into his skin. It becomes slippery quickly and he groans at the thought of having to scrub at himself to get all of last night’s torture off of him. He starts with his front, though, and it washes out of him twice as quickly as it dried. It’s harder to soap his back and when he finally manages to get it enough to deem a rinse off he can still feel a portion of it, slick and dirty, beneath the water. He groans and lets his forehead press into the shower wall. If his shoulders didn’t fucking ache he’s sure he would be able to reach it, but he’s slow at even thinking about it. It’s like it’s not even an option until the water begins to cool, just barely, and massages his muscles open a little more. 

He hears the jingle of PesterChum alerting him to a message as he stands under the water, but it gets cut off with the same jingle mere seconds later. More come after that and he doesn’t bother counting them until the last one plays all the way through. He grabs more of the body wash and lathers it on his hand before, taking a deep breath, he reaches over his head and uses his other hand to hold his elbow long enough to scratch it into his skin. It slides off quickly and he melts as he is left in only his skin. 

He takes a few minutes to clean out beneath his nails and he takes the moment to wash his hair. He’s out of his shampoo, so he squirts some of Matt’s into his hand and uses that. He knows that Matt will notice, but he also knows that he won’t care. It’s his response for not telling anyone about what he uses. 

He climbs out and dries off his hair and his hands, wrapping the towel around his waist loosely. He opens the phone (there’s no lock, none at all, but there isn’t really a reason to, since he doesn’t have anything on it he wants to hide from anyone) as he swishes with Listerine. He grabs his toothbrush and starts brushing as he reads the messages. 

timeousTestified [TT] began pestering goldenBoy [GB]

TT: At least you admit that I didn’t deserve that.   
TT: It’s ok though.   
TT: I was actually pretty drunk.   
TT: I’m not sorry if you feel guilty though.   
TT: Don’t expect me to be. Striders don’t feel sorry.   
TT: What time do you get out of school?   
TT: If it’s between two and five in the pm, come by here:   
TT: timeousTestified has sent a google-maps link  
TT: you can make it up to me by explaining why you weren’t on the face of the world last night tomorrow when you get off.   
TT: And, yeah.   
TT: <>  
TT: Always.  
TT: I thought I sent it last night. I guess I didn’t.

Dave smiles gently as he stares at the last three messages and lets out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He gently types his answer as he realizes that Dirk hasn’t logged out yet.

GB: ok  
GB: got detention too  
GB: prolly wont get there till like four thirty  
GB: but im already meeting up with a friend so i cant stay with you long  
TT: You just need to come by long enough to tell me, lil bro  
TT: I assume you have that much time   
GB: yeah  
GB: i have that much time  
GB: gotta go.   
GB: matts waiting  
TT: It isn’t required that I give you my condolences at your innocence’s grave, right?   
TT: I’d sooner dance on the ground than give them   
GB: im bursting at the motherfuckin seams with these condolences  
GB: the graveyard is bustling with the ghosts of my innocence  
GB: dont need any of your dolences  
GB: in fact, dont even need you here, in fact id rather have your absence  
GB: this lonely soul aint roamin’ no more  
GB: its like it died back durin the American civil war  
GB: left alone to its own devices  
GB: innocence has its dues but these days the charges just be overprices  
TT: that completely sucked  
TT: ironically, of course  
TT: your rhyme scheme changed  
TT: other than that, “condolences” and “dolences” don’t count since it’s the same damn word  
TT: You have room to improve though.  
GB: whatever bro.   
GB: dont need you rubbin all up on me  
GB: beggin to see me like im the fruit of some poisoned tree  
GB: wait your time and youll see  
GB: im the best damn one you can ever wish to be   
TT: You, dear Dave, are a fucking tool.   
TT: S’ok. “Me” is easy to rhyme with anyway. Quick, easy choice   
GB: huh?   
GB: oh god that all rhymed  
GB: fuck i didnt even notice.  
TT: that makes it funnier lil man  
TT: your bro is calling you though.   
TT: dont fuck yourself up too much  
TT: <>   
GB: bye  
GB: <>

goldenBoy [GB]  ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]  
timeousTestified [TT]  ceased pestering goldenBoy [GB]

Dave takes a deep breath as he leaves the bathroom. He goes straight to his room to plug his phone in and Matt knocks on the door lightly. He looks up and nods as Matt gently pushes him back and lays him on the bed. He grabs the ointment off the ground and pushes his knees to his chest. It’s gentle, and slowly Matt finishes applying it. They go to the living room in their boxers and lie together to watch television. He leans against the couch, away from Matt, and loses himself in the thought of why Dirk is so against it. (He doesn’t know anything about his Auntie Roxy, like he had in the Alpha Timeline, or about her brother growing up. In fact, in the Phi Timeline, Roxy had been forced out of New York to live with the Striders in order to protect her from him.)

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wheels of the skateboard skitter and clank over the cracks in the sidewalk. He bounces along, grooving to his music with a thick head bump. Over his shoulder his backpack his rests, bouncing lightly along with the many chains on his sides. He glances at the map printout google has so lovingly provided and takes a left turn, cutting across an intersection and pissing off a driver. He flips them off without thinking about it and ollies onto the sidewalk. 

He finds himself at the dojo and takes a deep breath as he walks in. He steps one foot after the other like he owns the place and leaves his skateboard by the door. He notices the shoes at the door and toes his off, sliding into the slippers left behind. He walks in, hands deep into his pockets and pulls one earbud out of his ear. He glances into a room to find two older women, two younger ones, one older man and one younger one. “Dirk’s at?” He demands. One of the older women—blonde hair, pink contacts—looks up, arches her eyebrow and asks “who’s asking?” 

“Look like I care? I’ll just look around for him afterward. You gonna help yes or no.” 

“He’s teaching a class, young man,” the other woman—black hair, blue eyes—says as she shifts around, leaving the young boy on his ds alone. One of the young girls giggles (black hair, green eyes) and types something into her phone and he smirks as he returns to playing his game. “I suggest you drop your attitude if you’re going to meet with Strider-sensei, to you.” 

“Fuck that shit, man. He ain’t no sensei and he sure as hell ain’t mine.” 

The girl with the blonde hair and purple-ish contacts grimaces at the word “ain’t” but doesn’t say anything, instead pressing her lips into a thin line as she continues to write in her journal. Her phone buzzes and she checks it, types something and puts it back down. “I’ll have you know, good chap,” the older man says as he comes forward. He has a thick British-Irish-Scottish-Welsh-fuck-that-shit-he-doesn’t-know-how-to-differentiate accent and holds himself with swag to compete with Dirk’s. “That Dirk is a jolly good teacher and spends his time with his cohorts to teach his students correctly.” 

“I ain’t sayin’ he’s bad or nothin’,” he replies. “Jus’ that he’s a sensei but he sure as hell ain’t mine. Just’a friend.” 

“Would you speak correct English for once?!” The girl with the purple contacts erupts. She takes a deep breath and climbs down from her spot on the wall-desk, walking to him with clear, purposeful steps. She stops in front of him, places one hand on her hip and points the other at his chest. “You sound like an enamored idiot when you talk in such ways!” 

“Hey,” he smirks as he pushes her away lightly. He takes the other earbud out (something he has never done before) and holds his hand free. She glances at it disdainfully. “My name’s Dave. You’re the first one man enough to tell me to actually talk like a human being. That’s sayin’ something.” 

She arches one slender blonde brow before taking it. She says her name during it and releases the hand soon thereafter. “Rose. Rose Lalonde.” 

“Dave Winslow.” 

“Am I correct to presume that you and Mr. Strider agree in the way of friendship?” 

“Fuck friends, man. I don’t need anyone.” 

Her smile is gentle, coy, sly, knowing. “It appears so. His class is out now. He’s down the hall, on the left.” 

“Thanks, Lalonde.” 

“Good bye, Winslow.” They shake hands again and he returns the earbud to his ear. He salutes her with two fingers and walks away, turning swag up to max as he walks down the hall. He slides the door open and Dirk glances up from where he’s walking down lines of students with wooden swords. He recognizes Johnny—a boy with brown hair, brown eyes, a two-pack and entirely too much weight compared to Dave’s lithe form—in the mix and he spots several backpacks in the back. He wonders which one is Johnny’s—they all look alike—and therefore has their booze in it. Dirk nods his head, instructing him to stay in the back. He stays silently and puts the other earbud in his ear. Dirk instructs them slowly, leading them through each stance with a clear, thick, deep voice that reverberates in his chest better than the music in his ears. He waits for ten minutes before the students lower their weapons, bow and go to place them on the other side of the room. He pops one earbud out and listens to a few kids as they leave. Some stupid things—sports, being grounded, thanking Strider-sensei for the lesson, a couple of spiteful remarks about him from his fellow school mates. 

“I mean,” one kid grunts, “why would a slut like him need to learn how to drive? There’s no road between the bedroom door and the bed.” 

“Depends on whose bed it is,” he remarks instantly. Johnny comes up to him with half of his face covered in his hand. “Because it sure as hell isn’t yours. I don’t fuck diseased creatures. Your sister, however, she was a damn good lay.” 

The boy lunges at him and neither of his friends even tries to hold him back. He pushes the fist away easily, avoiding the second one by flipping him over himself. He hits him in the ankles and the kid goes from falling forward to his ass. He cries out as his friends gather him up. One snarls that “this isn’t over” as they abscond. 

“Well,” Dirk says as the door slams shut. “I hope they know that they’re paying for anything they break. I didn’t see anything.” 

Dave smirks up at him. He knew there was a reason why he liked Dirk. It had to be because he lets him fight without ratting on him at all. The detention today after school had been because of that, after all. Dirk holds his fist out at him and he doesn’t bother hesitating as they press them together. “Feeny, wait for Dave in the hall.” 

“Y-yes sensei,” Johnny nods and bows briefly. “I’ll see you in the hall, Dave. I’ll be waiting. We’re goin’ to the normal place, right?” 

“I don’t have any plans otherwise.” 

“Kay. If you’re not out in twenty, I’ll meet you there.” He nods once and waits for the door to close. He hears the silent footsteps as he stays still, trying to overhear their conversation. Johnny figures out that he can tell that quickly and walks away. He waits for him to walk back, but it doesn’t happen. Dave bites the inside of his lip, unnoticeable in public, and pulls out his phone. He opens it, opens PesterChum and opens the saved result of a conversation. He centers it over the end of their last conversation and the beginning of the one where all of the messages had been deleted. He hands the phone over, muttering “Matt did this.” Dirk glances from his face to his phone, running through it until he saw what was left. “I barely saw any of the conversation.” 

“What did you see.” No infliction, still a question, Dave knows this. 

“Ah, you said something about getting back to all seriousness and I saw the first half of your threat against me fucking Matt when I was supposed to be talking to you, but I didn’t see the actual threat behind it.” 

“That it.” 

“And the last two messages, but you can see those there.” 

“How did you not see them if they’re deleted.” 

“Matt. Between torturing me and being an utter dick. He deleted them without letting me see them.” 

“Has he mentioned them?” 

“No. I doubt he ever will. Sorry.” 

“Don’t bother with that emotion. Makes you weak. Most of it wasn’t important, just drunk rambling.” He shrugs back in his “ok” way and takes the not-acceptance because, really, Dirk is never going to accept it nor will he ever deny it. Dirk clears his throat to recapture his attention, but he never lost it. He doesn’t look back to him, instead glancing around the room some more, but there’s really nothing interesting here. “What was Matthew doing to you?” 

“Torturing me.” 

“Expand, Chinese-reader.” 

He rolls his eyes at the reference, obviously not impressed, but he’s proud that something like that stuck in this man’s mind. “He, um… you sure you want to hear this?” 

“I think I deserve to know why you ignored me. Whatever you tell me, I’m sure I can handle it.” 

“You tend to fly off the handle about—this, though.” 

“I’ll keep my Wicked-inspired movements to myself then.” 

“Fine. If you want. Three hours of constantly being on edge but not allowed to come.” Dirk visibly winces behind his shades. “Yeah, it fuckin’ hurt. He ended up leaving me alone yesterday after all, even though he said he was going to duplicate it because of that shit. Was cryin’ from it.” Dirk nods once, as if he was saying that he would be, too. 

“That what happened to your face.” 

He blinks and lifts his hand, having forgot about it. The bruise was dark that morning and is red hot beneath his hand. “Yeah,” he admits as he nods. “But everyone at school thinks it was Johnny.” 

“You the one that gave him the black eye.” 

“Hell yeah. Fight was worth the detention too. Awesome.” 

“And you two are friends?” 

“Yep.” 

“Yet you fight.” 

“It works. Ironically.” 

Dirk smirks and nods, handing his phone back. He yanks it back, last second, and holds it out of his reach. Dave doesn’t bother trying to reach up and get it. He isn’t a child (was he ever?) and he knows when someone is trying to convince him to be one. “Put a lock on this thing, got it. I don’t want your fuck ass of a brother reading any of my personal shit.” 

“Hey, that’s my ass he’s fuckin’!” Dirk rolls his eyes as he snaps his phone back. He shoves it in his pocket with the wallet and walks out of the room. He hears the thick sound of someone punching something in the room and lets out a sigh as he goes to catch up to Johnny. He smirks seeing him and catches the skateboard as it’s tossed at him. 

“You ready, Winslow?” 

“Race ya there, Feeny.” 

“You’re on.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dave bites his pillow as two fingers sink into his ass. Fuck, how does Matt stand this? It squeezes him awkwardly, unable to find any nice, safe, relaxed way to position himself as he spreads the ointment. Matt opens the door and he nearly sits bolt upright if not for the compromising position. He shuts the door behind him, takes his hand and guides him in, doing it slowly. He hums as the pain eases and the coolness of the ointment soothes the burn. 

“You’re drunk,” Matt laughs. “Imagine what mom and dad will say if they find this out.” 

“Please don’t tell them,” he slurs. “Please, please, please. They’ll shit bricks. Please.” 

“I won’t,” Matt responds. Dave doesn’t like the twinkle in his eye. “So long as you promise to suck me off before you go to school tomorrow. And it’s not my fault if you suck so much that you make yourself late. You just have to suck me off. Middle of the shower. Got it?” 

“Yes. Sure. Fine. Just don’t tell them.” 

Matt smirks and the door shuts as Dave extracts his hand, sighing as he relaxes. 

timeousTestified [TT] began pestering goldenBoy [GB]

TT: Can I ask a simple question?   
TT: I am anyway, don’t deny it.   
TT: Do you even like it when he does that?   
GB: i dont know  
GB: its all ive ever known  
GB: i dont have a choice  
GB: <>   
TT: <>

timeousTestified [TT]  ceased pestering goldenBoy [GB]  
goldenBoy [GB]  ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]

Does he like it? He doesn’t know. Dirk was never there to teach him the difference between putting up with, disinterest and the pure, blinding hate that bubbles in his chest so viciously that only fear can drown it out. Dave doesn’t know that not knowing his emotions is frustrating. All he knows is that this is painful—very painful—he doesn’t want to tear his anus again and even bottle after bottle of rum-and-apple-juice (some bottles, half finished, are lying in his closet for the next time around) it still is. He doesn’t know how to fix it. (After all, Dirk wasn’t there to teach him how.)


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, Dave finds himself being kicked out of his engineering class (because he passed and the others didn’t, so it’s their punishment, not his) and he goes around, asking different teachers if they need an assistant. He has to resort to asking the first year teachers (the ones he never actually had) if they needed one for his hour and one nice woman smiles, says yes and invites him in.

This is the class he is seated in when he notices Rose Lalonde walk in, glance at him in his uniform, turn her nose up with a welcoming smirk and sit down in a desk toward the right side of the front of the class. The boy who had been on his DS at the dojo walks in, fixes him with a warm smile and a lingering glance when he doesn’t return it and the last woman child bounces in a few minutes later, talking hurriedly with a woman she sits next to in the back. The teacher calls for silence, then does roll call. 

He learns that DS-boy’s name is John Egbert and the last girl’s name is Jade Harley. He thinks that Jade is actually pretty chill as class starts, Egbert is a derp but in a likable sort of way and Rose still hasn’t lost his respect. One of the girls around Rose asks what he’s doing here and the teacher jumps as if she had forgotten he was here at all.

“Oh, Mr. Winslow, there’s a pile of papers to grade on the right-hand side of the desk. No, father up. Maybe lower? Check the drawer. The other one, too? Are you sure it’s empty? Oh, dear, are they on my desk? No, it should be from third hour, first has already been graded. Yes, yes, that’s this class hour, of course! No, no, that’s fourth hour, oh, there it is! You’ve gotten it! As for you, Miss Maryam, Mr. Winslow happens to be my new assistant. He passed his engineering class early and now has an open slot to fill. I’ve asked him to help me until he can get it filled. Never you mind him, class, he took these classes years ago.”

“But he’s _our_ age,” Johnny mumbles and he smirks to himself as he offers Feeny a wink. The boy glares and turns around, flipping him off behind his chair. No one else seems to notice except for Egbert, who glances back at him before turning around. 

Dave shifts in his chair, finds a red pen and starts grading. He slowly, ever so slowly, learns that Egbert is horrible (by which he means average) at syntax but his spelling is almost perfect (this being a History class, he doesn’t understand why this is important, but he has to grade that, too) so he gets low Bs often. Jade is the opposite way and gets low As since she makes the effort to “fix” the mistakes. Rose has perfect rankings of both and gets straight 100s each time. It hurts him to grade Johnny’s papers, but he manages to not do it too harshly or too leniently, instead deciding that from then-on he wouldn’t look at names, instead grading them then going back to put the scores in the rubric.

He pushes them away and moves onto the next pile as she continues to grade some outlines from a chapter-section in the book. He does the work if only to keep from making snide remarks at the movie. Even if the recording is horrible and he has to skip through the commercials to make it fit in one class hour, he still doesn’t want to detract from any of their learning experiences. At least the information is correct. 

He finishes up the last paper as the class ends and hands them to the teacher before grabbing his pen to leave. She thanks him and he salutes with two fingers before walking away.

“Dave!”

He turns to see Rose, John, Jade and Johnny rushing up to him. He keeps his face in check enough to not scowl at them. He isn’t in the mood to talk, instead wanting to sit and think about his conversation with Dirk the night before. Johnny mouths that he needs to talk to him soon when he realizes the other three are going to him and he nods back as he walks away. Jade immediately wraps her arms around his neck, swinging from him. It takes everything he has to keep from pushing her away. After all, he isn’t used to close quarters except when his brother is fucking him ( _maybe it is rape, maybe Dirk is right_ ) and even then Matt doesn’t have breasts, however small hers are. 

She has long, black hair and brilliant green eyes hidden behind her eyeglasses. She has buckteeth and a plump lower lip. She wears the private-school uniform with pride, though. A navy blue vest with long sleeves, a white button down shirt and a navy blue, pleated skirt with high socks and black maryjanes. “I’m Jade,” she explains. “Jade Harley. I was there when you met Rose. I don’t think you noticed me. I was really quiet. Rose is my best friend and this is John. He’s not my actual brother, but he might as well be!”

Dave shifts her to his other arm and holds his hand out. John smiles and takes it. He wears the same white button down shirt only he has a black tie, too, and his blue jacket hangs open. Unlike Dave’s uniform, his navy blue pants aren’t adorned with several chains (all of which he takes off before his parents get home). He has buck-teeth, a little more prominent than Jade’s, and his blue-green (but mostly blue) eyes are hidden behind almost the same glasses as Jade’s, only his frames are a little thicker.

“Hey.” He nods his head. “If you’re our age, how come you’re not in any of the first year classes?”

“I’m a senior,” he explains. “Though at this rate I’ll probably be in a few more of your classes. How do you all know each other?”

“We met online, but when we found out that we all went to the same school, we met up. Couple of years later, we made it here. How do you know Mr. Strider?”

“Dirk? Man, he and I go way back. Online, ‘course. You all have lunch this period or next?”

“This.”

“Let’s sit together. Chill. Talk about shit.”

“I am perfectly fine with this,” Rose smiles gently in her condescending “I-know-how-to-correctly-conjugate-the-word-lay” way. Jade giggles and jumps around, clapping. John nods and the four of them walk to the girls’ lockers (they are, thankfully, near each other and Dave manages to sneak off to his to grab his lunch money without hassle—he never keeps the important money in his wallet because while he’s strong and can fight, there are stronger and more well-trained bullies at this school), talking about the ridiculousness of having a football team that can’t play. Jade, evidently, is the quarter back and, now that he thinks of it, Matt works with her as he is one of the tacklers. Still, they narrowly manage to grab victory any time they do and it’s usually because one of Jade’s moves were against Coach Hussie’s (who also happens to be the principal, but he keeps the halves of the job separate) orders. 

Rose complains that she can’t go nearly as often as she wants and Jade immediately jumps up, detailing out each game of the season. There are times where Dave has to interject to fix a part of the story and she laughs, nods, says he’s right and continues on.

“So, Dave, how do you know so much about football?” The black haired woman asks from across from him. She sits beside John, but beside Dave Rose sits. He can see Johnny bouncing on his heels in the lunch line, trying to catch his attention, but he doesn’t reply to it. “Or are you just like my dad and magically _know everything_?”

“Mr. English is weird like that,” John laughs.

“No, I don’t really give two shits for the sports, but by brother’s on the team. Matt. Number six.”

“Oh!” She pauses, but her face clouds over in fury. “He’s an asshole. He never listens to me and he never plays the way we need him to for us to win!”

“Yep. That’s him alright.” The four of them laugh and he smirks gently into the sandwich. He takes a drink of his apple juice to wash it down. “So you and your dad don’t have the same last name?”

“Nope!” She smiles. “I mean, we’re blood and all, but mom insisted that she wanted to have a daughter named Harley. She died a few years ago, which is probably for the better since she was always really sick, and I’m trying to get him to let me change it to English. He keeps saying it was mom’s wishes and fisticuffs never resolve anything, but he won’t fisticuff with me because not only am I his daughter but I’m a woman! I keep telling him that if he so much as lets me fucking have one chance—one God damned chance—I could fucking win! But no. No, fucking no, he’s a supreme ass fuck and won’t let me!”

“Huh,” he replies. “Sorry to bring it up. I’ve decided I don’t care anymore.”

“Meh,” Jade shrugs and bites into some sort of fish left-over. She chews but smiles in the end, lets out a breath and says “oh well! That’s the life! How is your life? I want to know more about the Winslows.”

“Not a big deal about us,” he shrugs. “Two sons, a mother, a father, et cetera. We’re all cool, I guess. Nothing is wrong. We’re the normal family.” ( _Are we, really? Because incest_ isn’t _normal. Neither is rape. But this isn’t rape. This is sex._ Is it?)

“How boring,” she whines, leaning against his side. “C’mon! Tell us some juicy secret!”

“Secret? It’s not a secret, but the closest thing to it is that I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re not?” She leans back, giving him a weird look. She hums and shrugs, going back to her food. “Wow! And you’re only fourteen?”

“Yep.”

“Who had sex with you?”

“Hot chick. Big boobs. No name, not really. I wouldn’t even recognize her.” ( _If it’s normal—like you think it is—then why are you lying about this?_ )

They continue to talk, falling into some sort of loop that is natural to them. He leaves lunch early to meet Johnny outside and smiles as they brofist like bros. Because that’s what they are. Bros. “Sup, man?” Dave asks. 

“I- I’m moving.”

He feels like his world is collapsing around him. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dave kisses Matt’s belly, ignoring the taste of spunk in his mouth. Matt sighs as he rolls out from under the younger boy and lays him on his stomach. Dave stretches out, relaxing as Matt finds the ointment and gently spreads some on his fingers. He pushes them in, dragging along the cuts. Matt comments on how the stitches are getting smaller and the cuts aren’t as pronounced as they used to be. Dave offers up a quiet “maybe it’s healing” mumble and buries his head into the pillow. He waits for Matt to leave before pulling out his phone and dragging his thumb along the coded passageway.

gatedBoy [GB] began pestering timeousTestified [TT]   
GB: this isnt normal  
GB: i know its not  
GB: im really tired of it actually  
GB: but  
GB: but i dont know how to make it stop  
GB: im not a masochist but the only way for it to stop ends in me needing to be one  
GB: i think thats why i “like” it  
GB: its better than the alternative  
GB: this is a lot to be laying on you so late at night  
GB: thanks for lending the ear  
GB: ill stop bothering you now  
GB: night  
GB: <>   
TT: Don’t be sorry for something like this. Don’t deny you are because it’s pretty obvious that you are.  
TT: I understand what you mean when you say that.  
TT: If you ever need someone to be there for you, I have an extra room with a bed. You’re welcome to it.  
GB: Oh  
GB: um  
GB: thanks  
GB: i guess  
GB: you sure???  
TT: I am absolutely positive.  
TT: I noticed you changed your name. “gatedBoy”. I take it you have been thinking about this a lot lately.  
TT: Don’t try to deny that either.   
GB: yea i have been  
GB: gated seemed better than golden  
GB: never been golden anyway  
GB: its horrible, trying to be that thing that im not  
GB: off the heavy stuff though  
GB: thanks for the offer too  
GB: i might have to take you up on that….  
TT: anytime, David. Seriously. Just message me a warning. Don’t even ask permission. Just say you’re coming over.  
TT: _**timeousTestified has sent a google-maps link**_  
TT: there you go, kid.  
GB: really  
GB: thank you  
GB: <>   
TT: <>

timeousTestified [TT]  ceased pestering  gatedBoy [GB]   
gatedBoy [GB]  ceased pestering  timeousTestified [TT] 

Dave rolls onto his back and groans as he turns his phone off. He thinks of Rose, of Jade and John and wonders what they would think of this.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By next Monday, Johnny has already moved and no longer attends their school, instead going to some public school in Arizona. He breaks down and sobs Sunday night when he gets the picture message of his new home in some town called Tempe. He doesn’t go to school Monday or Tuesday, but Wednesday he returns, full force, like nothing had happened. 

Friday night, though, he can’t quite seem to form the words he needs to form. He tells his mom that he’s going to spend the night at John’s house (Egbert’s, he clarifies, and she smiles, nods and says that he can go right on ahead, just message him when he gets there, which he promises to) and he takes his skateboard to Dirk’s house, declaring himself the nightly visitor.

Pizza for dinner, he’s told. He asks if there are anchovies. Dirk says yes, of course, how could anyone not like such an un-ironically cool topping (which means no). When he gets there, Dave is already waiting for the sausage, pineapple and whatever-else-is-on-supreme-pizza pizza to be served to him. He lives half an hour away, though, and messages his mom ten minutes away from Dirk’s apartment that he’s there. The elevator is out when he gets to the high rise and he climbs the stairs hurriedly. His lungs burn half way up and he has to stop to breathe slowly and regain his pace. He hurries up but he has to stop at the top, just before the door, and breathes again. He knocks on the door and waits until it’s opened.

Dirk isn’t wearing a shirt, but he doesn’t exactly need to. He has a strong six pack, well defined pecs and arm muscles, even more so than his shirt hinted at. He is immediately served the Hawaiian-like supreme and they sit around the kitchen (cleaner than expected, but still dirty, in a well-loved way, and Dave likes it) and talk about the stupid things his students do versus the stupid things Jade, John and Rose do.

“What of Feeny?” Dirk asks at last, as if catching on to him not mentioning Johnny’s name. “He hasn’t been around for a while.”

“Moved to Arizona.”

“You two close?”

“We were the closest of bros.”

“Harsh.”

He shrugs. Dirk seems to understand why it is he needed to come over so hurriedly with a simple nod and he lightly punches his shoulder. Dave rolls his eyes at him. “I have to go to work in an hour,” he explains, “but you’re welcome to just about everything in this house. DJ job.”

“You any good?”

“Striders are good at everything they do, even on the first try. Especially on the first try.” Dave smirks back as he rolls his eyes. With the way that Dirk makes it sound, he’s overcompensating by using his name. 

Dirk does leave about an hour later, after telling him where the extra bedroom is, where the bathroom is, tells him he’s free to shower if he wants to and gives him the rundown on several ironically good games. Dave pretends to get tired of them as he gets up and gets ready for work, instead looking around the house (the pile of smuppets just inside the guest bedroom is weird, but ignorable). As soon as Dirk leaves, though, he plops down in front of the couch and plays SnackAttack. The character gets stuck in the garbage can an hour and a half after he starts and he smirks as the High Score screen comes up. 

It’s all Dirk’s, except for two (one labeled “Engrish<3 ;)” the other labeled “Please don’t misuse my name, Madame Lalonde”, one on top of the other) and most of them have “what’s the point of me signing my name? I’m the only one that plays” written out without any spaces and capitals at the start of each word so it was relatively legible. He smirks as he types in “suck it, dirk” and takes the first place spot. He turns off the game, shuts out the lights, makes sure the door is locked and goes to the guest bedroom.

He wriggles out of the jeans, getting his night pants ready as he takes off his shirt, too. He takes a deep breath after finding the ointment and carefully applies it. He stubbornly refuses to think about anyone else doing this to him, especially Dirk because the pillow smells a little like him. He bends nearly in half to get it all the way down and he sighs when he decides that it’s enough and lays back. He pulls his underwear and pants on in case Dirk gets back before he wakes and lies on his front, hugging the pillow to his face. He falls asleep relatively quickly.

He wakes up briefly in the night and shivers as he pulls the blanket back up over his shoulders. It’s two in the morning and he yawns into his hand, rubbing his eye. He remembers something one of his friends as a kid (Seven, they didn’t have names, but his friend was called Seven) once told him; _studies show that if you wake up at two in the morning there is an eighty-percent chance someone is looking at you_. Ha, what bullshit. He shifts around, rolling back onto his stomach and hugs the pillow again. It takes a little while longer to fall asleep, but he does.

When he wakes the next morning, he smells Dirk in the kitchen making pancakes. He detours to the bathroom, whizzes, and washes his hands, styling his hair with the rest of the water. He finds Dirk in the kitchen (as is expected) wearing a pair of faded orange sweat pants hung low on his hips. His happy trail is so light that the only way Dave even knows it’s there is because of the shadow that it casts on his skin from the overhead light (it’s ok, because what little bit Dave has is like that, too, only completely white). He can see the beginning of the triangle held between his hips before his black boxers obscure it. Dirk barely looks up when he enters the kitchen and nods his head. He nods back and leans against the counter, unsure of what to do with himself.

“Matt do that to you.”

He glances down at his chest and the green-yellow bruise on the side of his hip. There’s another rather large one over the right side of his chest and more, darker, redder, ones spaced out at random intervals. “Nah, Johnny.”

“Feeny?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“You were fighting.” It’s another question, left to trail off, and though Dave thinks it sounds like an observation, he knows otherwise. He can tell it, just like the seconds that are ticking by, tock-tock-tock, in his gut. He doesn’t know why it is that it’s so obvious to him because any normal, sane person would just hum and agree—and Dirk would probably drop it there because he knows how he talks and how others hear it compared to how it’s meant and isn’t be stupid enough to clarify. Then again, Dave is the most abnormal, insane albino he has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“I cracked a joke. He thought it was about his sister. Completely deserved it for not clarifying. The fight was fun though.”

“You two fight a lot.” Somehow, in that weird, abnormal, insane albino way of his, he knows it’s not a question. It’s an observation.

“Not really. His dad is abusive. Drunkard. Most of the marks are from him, but I say that I fight him to keep him out of trouble. His dad’s a pretty good guy other than that.”

“That’s like saying a rapist is a good guy for paying whoever he rapes.”

“What’s with you and rape, anyway? You have such harsh thoughts about Matt and me, after all. You’d think you’re a fuckin’ radical or something.”

“A friend of mine went thriough the same thing you are, only she got pregnant because of it. Not that you _can_ , but it’s still disgusting seeing her act the way she does when the word ‘brother’ is even hinted at. Sick.” He shakes his head and flips a piece of bacon, not even blinking when it pops and some of the grease hits his skin. “Her daughter doesn’t even know about it. Only the two of us. Well, three, now.”

“Is it Rose’s mom?”

Dirk freezes, mid-flip, and gives him this look that he can’t quite define. It makes his stomach twist like he has done something wrong, but at the same time it makes him feel proud of himself, like he caught Dirk off guard. (The Alpha Timeline Dave never feels this. The Beta Timeline—where John dies listening to Vriska, Jade dies because of Bec Noir literally eating her trachea after Bec is programmed, and he goes to the past after so many months with Rose and only Rose to become Alpha Dave’s sprite—feels it, though, when he holds his sword to Bec Noir, standing beside Dirk _who just knows everything magically in that older brother way of his_. Right before Dirk dies, he gives Davesprite the same look, lingering, and smiles as he dies—the first time he has ever smiled to him—and reaches up to hold his face. Davesprite can’t tell it then, but he knows that this will be his happiest memory come The Yellow Yard, even as he sobs watching him die, begging forgiveness for not being able to protect him, for fucking around during training, for not thinking this would ever be important. Dirk merely says “you did what I taught you to do” and “protect your friends” before rubbing his head and kissing his forehead—like a father does. “I’ll always be with you, Dave. Look for my dreambubbles, ok, _son_?” Dave nods and sobs as he shuts his amber eyes behind his glasses, laying him back down. ) 

“How did you know?”

“I haven’t seen you with anyone else. Well, technically, I’ve never seen you with them either but they have this fierce loyalty to you like you’re their fuckin’ brother or something. All six of them do. And you said she got pregnant, so it’s obviously not Jade’s dad. John knows his dad, though, and spends every other weekend with him. Rose never talks about her dad. I guessed.”

“Damn good guess. Yeah, it’s Roxy.”

“Awkward.” Dave admits, looking out the small window and into the apartment the next high rise over. The drapes are drawn partially, but from what’s not he can see a woman casually changing her clothes. She’s probably in her late thirties and the man that comes up to hug her seems to be her husband. “A father-uncle. The fuck do you explain that to your parents? Or the resulting kid?”

“Roxy did.” Dirk shrugs. “Somehow. She was a mess when she was shipped off to Texas. Her parents didn’t want some _‘tattle-tale whore’_ in their house and they weren’t going to put up with any kid from a fourteen year old daughter. She came and lived with me.”

“What a bunch of fuckwits,” he growls. “They do realize it was their _son_ that impregnated her, right?”

“They thought she was lying and didn’t want to admit it was her boyfriend.” He pauses either to let it sink in or to focus on the bacon, either is equally likely, but he returns to talking after a moment. “She’s gay. Can’t stand men other than out of the seven of us, most of whom are women so it doesn’t count. Has a girlfriend, too. Some chick named Nepeta. We haven’t met yet.”

“Well I wonder why. She was fuckin’ raped since she was a kid. It only makes sense that she’s afraid of men.”

Dirk shrugs his shoulders and puts the bacon on a papertowel, adding a few more pieces. “How do you like’em.”

“Crispy.”

“Good choice.”

“Only way.” Dirk and he fist bump for a moment before Dirk returns to the bacon. He finishes this round quicker than he had the last and they stop talking about it all together.


	5. Chapter 5

GA: No I Am Not “Shitting” You, Four.  
GA: He Truly Is Back.  
GA: Should We Do Something Of This?  
CG: NO!  
CG: THAT BASTARD LEFT US  
CG: DESERTED US  
CG: REMEMBER THOSE FLOGGINGS  
CG: DO YOU NOT LOOK YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR EVERY DAY AND SEE THE SCARS THEY GAVE US? THAT FUCKER LEFT US. HE GAVE THEM TO US. IF HE WAS THERE, WE WOULDNT HAVE THEM. NO. WE WILL NOT MAKE CONTACT. HES NOT FUCKING WORTH IT.  
CG: HE PROBABLY HASN’T THOUGHT OF US IN YEARS ANYWAY, WHY THE FUCK SHOULD IT MATTER? HE’D PROBABLY GLANCE AT US, BE LIKE “THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT” IN THAT INFURIATING WAY OF HIS AND NEVER EVEN BOTHER TRYING TO REMEMBER US  
CG: FUCK HIM  
CG: FUCK THIS  
CG: HES NOT FUCKING WORTH IT  
CG: CAN WE FUCKING GO BACK TO STUDYING GODDAMN HISTORY  
CG: I STILL CANT REMEMBER THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DE-LAUNAY AND BERNARD-REME  
GC: TH3Y 4R3 TH3 S4M3 P3RSON FOUR  
CG: WHAT?  
CG: THATS FUCKING STUPID SEVEN  
CG: WHY THE HELL IS HE THE SAME PERSON? WHO NEEDS FOUR GOD DAMN NAMES???  
AG: o8viously him, Four  
AG: he was French  
AG: all French need four names  
AT: uHH, wELL, bERNARD-REME IS HIS FIRST NAME AND DE-LAUNAY IS HIS LAST NAME, fOUR, uHH,,, oBVIOUS, uM, oBVIOUSLY EIGHT IS CORRECT, tH-THE FRENCH ARE JUST WEIRD,,,,  
CG: WELL  
CG: THAT CLEARS THAT UP  
CG: THANKS TWO  
CG: I GUESS  
CG: YOU MAY NOW BASK IN THE GLORY THAT IS MY THANKS  
CG: IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN  
GC: 1 4M CURR3NTLY S4VING TH1S FOR YOU, TWO.  
GC: 1 4GR33 W1TH S1X  
GC: W3 SHOULD M33T UP!  
GC: 1 R34LLY M1SS TH1RT33N  
GC: H3 M4D3 3V3RYTH1NG 34S13R TO D34L W1TH  
GC: 3SP3C14LLY M1SS DUMBSH1T  
CG: I DONT CARE SEVEN  
CG: THAT BASTARD FUCKING ABANDONED YOU  
CG: YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING RAPED IF IT WASNT FOR ME AFTER YOU LEFT  
CG: RAPED  
CG: THIRTEENS FAULT  
CG: GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL THAT HE IS THE REASON WHY AND THAT HE FUCKING DESERVES TO LIVE HIS OWN LIFE. BESIDES, SIX SAYS THAT HE SEEMS DISTRACTED A LOT. ONLY TIME HE WAS DISTRACTED AS KIDS, HE WAS SAD OUT OF HIS FUCKING MIND. HE DESERVES TO WALLOW.  
GA: Why Do We Insist On Calling Each Other By The Numbers We Were Presented With?  
GA: We Have Names Now.  
GA: We Were Adopted.  
GA: Or Do You Not Remember That?  
GA: I Do. Everyone Here Was Taken Before I Was.  
GA: I Spent *Three Years* Alone In That Place, Keven, And You Insist On Saying That Thirteen Abandoned Us? Honestly? That’s Fucking Ridiculous. I Got It Worse Than Anyone Else Here Yet You Insist On Such Trivial Bullshit Like He Personally Wronged you.  
GA: Get Your Head Out Of Your Ass, Keven.  
GA: Thirteen Was One Of My Closest Friends And Nothing You Can Say Or Do Will Make Me Change My Mind About Meeting Him.  
GA: Rose Says He Has Fourth Lunch, Too.  
GA: Anyone Else In?  
GC: 1 4M  
AT: bUT, uHH, dONT YOU HAVE FIFTH LUNCH, nOT FOURTH,  
GC: SO?   
AT: ,,,OK

carcinoGeneticist [CG] opened a private Chum-Conversation with grimAuxillitrix [GA]  
CG:….  
CG: WILL YOU TELL ME HOW HE IS?  
CG: I CANT AFFORD TO SKIP FOURTH AGAIN  
CG: AND I REALLY DO MISS HIM  
CG: HE WAS MY BEST FRIEND  
GA: Of Course, Keven. I Would Be Happy To.  
GA: I Apologize For What I Said Earlier. It Was Uncalled For.   
CG: NO YOURE RIGHT  
CG: I SHOULDNT HAVE SAID IT LIKE THAT  
CG: I DIDNT MEAN IT THAT WAY  
CG: BUT THATS HOW IT HAPPENED  
CG: DONT APOLOGIZE  
CG: YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU, RIGHT, KAITLIN  
CG: I DONT KNOW WHY I STILL CALL EVERYONE BY OUR NUMBERS  
CG: FORCE OF HABIT  
GA: It’s Ok.  
GA: Yes, I Do Know That, Keven. I Love You, Too.  
GA: I’ll Detail Out Every Second With Him.  
CG: THANK YOU  
CG: SO MUCH  
CG: HAVE FUN  
CG: TELL HIM… TELL HIM I SAY “HI” OK?  
CG: BUT IN MY WAY  
CG: MY I-HATE-YOUR-GUTS-DON’T-YOU-DARE-FUCKING-TALK-TO-ME-OK-I-GUESS-I-CAN-SPARE-*ONE*-WORD-WITH-YOU WAY  
CG: GOT IT?   
GA: Most Certainly.

grimAuxillitrix [GA] has ended the private Chum-Conversation with carcinoGeneticist [CG]

GA: When Shall We Go, Theresa?  
GC: TOMORROW OBVIOUSLY  
GC: DUR1NG LUNCH  
GC: BY WH1CH 1 M34N YOUR3 LUNCH 4ND MY M4TH T3ST  
CC: )(-E)(-E)(-E you just want to get out of your mat)( test, T)(eresa.   
GC: W3LL Y34H  
GC: BUT 1 DO M1SS H1M TOO  
CT: D --> I'm afraid we have a problem  
CT: D --> This "Wilson" fellow.. isn't he the guy that gave Eridan head last week  
CT: D --> It would make sense as he just passed my engineering class early  
CT: D --> However, doesn't he hate you, Theresa  
CT: D --> And you, too, Kaitlin  
CA: i fuckin told you not to tell them about that  
CT: D--> I a-apologize   
AA: y0ure sweating all 0ver my keyb0ard equius please g0 clean y0urself up   
AA: this is disgusting   
CA: just go clean your fins, edd  
CT: D--> Right away, sir  
AA: this is still disgusting  
AA: im switching c0mputers  
AA: brb  
AA: back  
GA: What Shall We Do About This Theresa?  
GC: 1 DONT KNOW  
GC: BUT 1 GU3SS W3R3 NOT GO1NG TOMORROW  
GA: No.  
GA: I Don’t Suppose We Are. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dave kicks the skateboard up and holds it over his shoulder as he switches his shoes for slippers. He walks straight to the back and takes the first door on the left. John looks up from his DS to give him a cheeky smile, only it stops halfway there and his eyes widen. His jaw drops and the DS falls from his hands, clambering on the floor. He’s playing some sort of text-game, if it’s a game at all. Jade looks up from her phone at the sound and follows his line of sight. She makes a horrible gasping noise and covers her mouth with her hands. Rose’s eyes merely widen and her lips slacken, but she doesn’t make any noise, unlike the others. Mr. English turns to look and his brows furrow before he smirks at him, nodding his head. Miss Crocker (John’s mom, the woman with the black hair and the blue eyes, who had reclaimed her maiden name after she got divorced) immediately rushes to him, bends on her knees and tries to clear him up. Miss Lalonde just stands there next to Mr. English with a smile on her face and her hands slowly clapping.

“Jolly good scare there, lad,” Mr. English laughs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “What has shamed you so?”

He smirks at him as his tongue darts out, tasting the blood on his split lip and the soft cotton of Miss Crocker’s handkerchief. He supposes he looks worse than he feels because he feels fucking amazing, but the horror on the others’ faces is enough to make him still from saying “nothing”. He can taste the blood from his lip and his noise and he can feel the dark bruise between his eyes and on the corner of his right one. Neither is black and his nose is just fine since he can still wear his sunglasses, but seriously, does he really look that bad? “Rough blowjob. Don’t give me that look, Dirk, I am obviously kidding.”

“Look? What look? There was never any look here,” he says as he walks in. He glances at his face briefly and obviously sees the irritated look in his eye as he lays his hand on Jane’s shoulder. She glances between them four times before she gives him the handkerchief and steps off. Dave visibly relaxes and takes his shades off. He keeps his eyes shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose and rests the handkerchief at the other end of his nose. “What really happened?”

“Some idiot named Edward from my old engineering class got all high and mighty on me, so I had to beat him down. ‘Nough said.”

“Broke your nose.” It’s another one of Dirk’s not questions. He smirks as he releases the bridge of it, and fixes his head. He checks under it blindly and places his glasses on before he opens his eyes again, flipping Dirk off. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“I’m not an idiot, Dirk. I know how to not break my nose.”

“I wasn’t insinuating you were.”

“I know. I’m supplying that for later references.”

“Kid.”

“Dick.”  


Dirk smirks at him and goes to pick a towel up in the corner of the room. He wipes his face off with it and changes his shirt into one devoid of sweat before they decide they’re ready to go to the movies. Dave is nice enough to flick any of the blood off his face and he even decides to let Rose close enough to get what he missed. She pats his cheek like a child when she’s done. “You know,” he says, “doing motions such as that is a psychological manifestation for your need of children. You’re fourteen, right? Start making process.”

First, she punches him, hard, right on his mouth. Second, she calmly wipes the blood from where his teeth cut her knuckles with the handkerchief as he spits the skin out. Third, she calmly looks him in the eye and says “It’s also a sociological manifestation of my demeaning you for ending your fight in this condition. However, yours makes sense as well.”

“I knew there’s a reason why I liked you, Lalonde.” He smirks. She smiles warmly, her eyes half lidded in her coy way. She looks down her nose at him, too, but it’s a little difficult for her to do that as she is shorter than him.

“I knew there’s a reason why I find you interesting, Winslow.”

“Are we ready to go?” Jade asks, bouncing on her toes. “Ok, so, Dave, John, Rose and I are so sitting in the way back. You guys can have the front. It’s not that I don’t love you, dad, I do, and your company, but I’m fourteen. Do you have any idea how uncool it is for me to go to a movie with you? Don’t give me that look, really, dad, please, don’t cry! Don’t cry! Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry! I know you’re not, but I feel like you are on the inside! Dad!”

By now, they’re already a good deal out of the dojo. A heavy bump runs into Dave’s side and he stumbles a bit, noticing only black hair, tan skin and a darker colored shirt. “What the fuck, man?” He says, straightening. “Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

“Why don’t you stay out of my fucking way, Thirteen!” He snarls back, turns and starts walking in the way he had originally been going. Dave freezes, watching him go.

“What the hell, Keven?” Dirk asks, more to the rest of the group than anyone else. Dave’s hand slips inside his pocket and he grows furious as he finds it empty. He checks the other, just to make sure he isn’t going crazy, but when he pulls the cloth out he finds only one, rust-red-with-grey-stripes and faded butterfly knife. That’s it. “You’re the same age as him.”

“That motherfuck!” Dave starts as he spins on his toe. He takes off after him, all the while expertly opening the butterfly knife. “He stole my knife! Again! What the hell, Four!”  
The breath rushes in and out of his lungs as he runs in time with them, breathing out as he hits the pavement. Four notices him within seconds and takes off down an alley. He turns on the inside of his foot and runs after him. It’s a dead end, but Four takes it in stride. He jumps at the wall and runs up it, narrowly managing to catch the edge before Dave catches him. The albino growls as he follows, rolling when he hits the top. There’s a clatter behind him, which he ignores.

He spins the Balisong around until the latch closes and he swiftly throws it. Four tumbles to the ground, turns to the foot that the knife slid into and yanks it out. He slides it back to him as he rolls and gets to his feet. The black Balisong is cold in his hand as he suicide-opens it with a flash snap. He catches it so the blade leaves from his pinky. Four jumps to the other roof without hesitation and he follows, determined. He rolls over one shoulder, gathers grit from the edge in his free hand and throws it. Four slips. He’s scrambling to get up by the time he kicks him over, kneels over him with their ankles crossed, his forearm on his shoulders and the knife blade to his neck. Four arches his neck back, trying to avoid it as best he can. He hears awkward jumps behind him and rough breathing.

“Where the fuck is it?” He demands.

Four gives him a shit-eating grin. “Where’s what?”

“The god damned Balisong you stole!”

“It’s in your hand.”

“The one you gave me, Four!”

“Back pocket,” he answers, shifting a little. Dave reaches under awkwardly but manages to find it. It’s still open, so he undoes the latch and closes it, slipping it into his back pocket. Dave shifts his hand on the knife a bit before letting up slightly. Four relaxes his neck and slumps his shoulders, all too used to being under someone in this predicament. Or, if not, he sure as hell is a good liar, Dave thinks.

“Jesus shit, man, I didn’t think you were that overprotective of a dull, rusted ol’ knife. What tipped you off that it was me?”

“Who else would steal a knife but not a phone?”

“Good point,” he smirks as he raises one hand to the knife. His finger slices open on the tip, where the edge meets the swedge. “Can I have my neck back?”

He leans back, throwing his foot away from him. Four leans up instantly and pulls his shoe off, grimacing at the red that mars the white sock. He peels it off to find that the cut isn’t as deep as it looks—small enough that a regular band-aid will suffice—and puts the sock back on, taking the time to slap Dave in the face with the bottom of the shoe. He punches the back of his head.

Four’s hair is ragged—choppy in the back, spiked with hard gel on the front and sides—and dark black. He has bright green eyes, though there are enough popped blood vessels spattering the irises that one looked redder than the other. His skin is tan, but pale at the same time, and he has this Mediterranean look to him. He wears a black shirt with some sort of obscure band logo on it and his pants are black, bullet-belted and heavily chained (they look almost too much like Dave’s, too). The multiple pockets on them are lined with white stitching and silver holes. On the back of his hand, there’s a faded grey somewhat-sixty-nine drawn in awkwardly like someone else had drawn it on him. He doesn’t doubt it.

“S’your name?” He asks at last, still not giving any mind to those behind him. “I mean, your real one, not the number, douche. You’re here in Houston, now, right? Or were you just transferred from Seattle or somethin’?”

“No, no I live here now. Keven Vantas. What’s yours?”

“Is it really that important?”

The silence that follows is long, dense, and Keven spends most of his time staring straight into him, like he can see through his glasses, his skin, and straight into his soul. At length, his thin, cracked, colorless, lips twitch at the corner and he shakes his head. “No. I don’t suppose it does.”

“What do you call yourself?”

“Karkat. You?”

“David. Dave. It’s been a while, Keven.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “that’s an understatement. Help me up, jackass, it hurts to put pressure on my foot.” Dave rolls his eyes as he stands and holds his hand out. Karkat takes it and lifts himself up.

“How are the others? Does six still have cancer?”

“They’re fine—and, no, no she doesn’t. The family that took her took care of those expenses when they bought her. She’s fine. Completely healthy. Never talks about it, but it’s true.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ve missed everyone.”

“They’ve missed you, too.”

“But not you.”

“Never.”

“Not once?”

“Why would I miss a douchebag? I was fuckin’ ecstatic when you left.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. I didn’t miss you either.”

“Of course you haven’t. We were mortal enemies.”

“Still are.”

“You could have killed me with that knife. Evidently, we’re not.”

“I wanted answers.”

“Then why haven’t you done it now?”

“You’re expecting it. It’s more fun to do it when you aren’t. See the surprise, the fear, you know, that stuff that makes someone a serial killer.”

“That pos-knife still workin’ for you?”

“Perfectly.”

Karkat smiles gently and holds his hand out. Dave takes it and they pull closer to each other, clapping their hand on the other person’s back once before stepping away. “Actually,” Karkat adds. “We all live in the same neighborhood, the other eleven and me. It’s funny how it worked, but amazingly lucky.”

“Luck’s dumb.”

“Luck is anything but dumb.”

“You only say that because it’s smarter than you.” He ducks below the punch and smirks as he stands again. “But seriously, where do you go to school? Do you all go together? You’re in the same neighborhood.”

“You fucking idiot!” He laughs, nearly bending over double in his shouts. “Oh my God, you have no idea! You have class with some of them! You fucking moron! Oh my God! Oh, gog, haha, fuuuck, it hurts to laugh, damn, sensei did a number on me,” he coughs into his hand, obscuring some of the words. He stands somewhat straight up with his arm around his waist and the redder eye shut. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I take it you all go to the same school. Must be half way across the county then.”

He lets Karkat knock the back of his head with his knuckles and smiles as they hug. Karkat melts, smiling into his shoulder. He feels the same way. “I’ve missed you, Dave. We should talk more. Kaitlin says you have fourth lunch.”

“I do. Which one is Kaitlin?”

“Kaitlin Maryam happens to be Six.”

“What’s Seven’s name?”

“Theresa. Theresa Pyrope.”

“Somehow, the last name suits her. Not the first, though.”

“She refuses to tell us what she calls herself until she meets with you, but she’s a little hesitant to since, well, you give off this air of hating her anytime she comes close.”

“Nah, I don’t hate anyone. I just don’t really like being touched by people I don’t know.” ( _Do you really know Matt, though? Do you? You like that, right? No, no I don’t! Yes you do, don’t lie. I don’t like it, it’s freaky and cruel and, and and…. Don’t deny it. You orgasm each time. Physically! Is there another way to orgasm? …no…._ ) “Does she have fourth lunch?”

“Fifth, with me.”

“We have to get together. Need’a meet up with everyone.”

He smirks. “They’d like that. Time is it?”

He doesn’t check a watch. He doesn’t check his phone or his iPod. He just knows. He has always known. Somehow, with that metronome, came this. He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t have to. “Five-thirty-whuu- nope, five-thirty-two.”

“Freaky how you still do that.”

“You expect any different?”

The arms around him tighten. “No. But, hey, my mom is going to get worried. I’ll see you at school?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t, um, tell the others about, uh, the hug.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

“This hug is really gay. Even for my standards. I’m not telling anyone.”

“Your friends know.”

“I didn’t tell them, did I?”

“No. No I suppose you didn’t. Gotta go.”

“Bye,” he says one last time with a single squeeze. Karkat squeezes back and leaves with a gentle smirk.

“Watch your pockets.”

“Go fuck yourself, Vantas!” Karkat chuckles to himself as he goes to the edge of the roof and jumps. There isn’t a sound as he lands. Dave didn’t expect there to be one. He turns slowly to see the others. Dirk looks semi-impressed as he takes the red-and-grey knife from his back pocket, slides it into his front and flips the glossy black one shut, sliding it into the other pocket. He wonders what could have spurred that on in the tilt of his jaw.

“What just happened?” John asks as he pumps an asthma inhaler. The color returns to his face the second time he does it. “Who’s that Vantas guy?”

“An old friend of mine,” he answers quietly.

“Why did he call you ‘thirteen’?”

“An… old joke. There were thirteen of us. We numbered ourselves off.”

“Then why are you thirteen?”

“I’ve got shitty luck.”

“Oh….” Jade shrugs as she prances up and wraps her arms around his neck. “That was really cool, Dave! C’mon, if we don’t go now, we’ll miss the movie!”

“Right.” He nods and follows. No one asks anything else about it. He wonders why, but doesn’t spur it on. Instead, he drops off the roof where Karkat had minutes before and helps Jade and Rose get down. John shakes his head at the help and jumps himself. A few feet down, Dirk helps Miss Lalonde and Miss Crocker down, but Mr. English jumps without it.

The movie isn’t even that good.

Dave doesn’t actually know.

He doesn’t watch.


	6. Chapter 6

“Keven!”

The first year stops, mid-motion, and looks up as Dave hurries over. He nods his head briefly before turning back to a shapely woman with red-framed glasses and red-dotted teal eyes. Her hips are the largest point of her, forming a beautiful pear-shape that she pulls off superbly. She wears the usual navy blue uniform, but around her right wrist is a black basketball wrist band, stenciled in on one side with a teal pair of scales (in perfect balance, like Anubis’ scale on the innocent) with the other a beautiful, perfect, bold, seven.

Karkat is halfway through the story about last Friday as he catches up to him. He’s talking animatedly, but in a superfluous, over-exaggerated way. He adds too much stress on his words, like he really doesn’t care, but he can’t fool either of them.

“Yeah, yeah, cool story bro,” Dave says as he bats him away, just before they had their hug-moment. “You should tell that at parties. You’re Theresa now, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snaps, her lips twisting up in disgust.

“Sorry,” he explains, but smirks at the end. “Last I saw you, your name was Seven.”

It only takes a few moments before Karkat is doubled over in laughter. Tears gather in Theresa’s eyes and she rips her glasses off to rub at them. The earpieces flick long pieces of her caramel brown hair to the side they aren’t supposed to be on, but she ignores them in favor of replacing her glasses. Her arms twitch and her eyebrows pinch before he gently places the bag down on the ground. She crashes into his chest, burying her nose into him. He wraps his arms around her, silently rocking her until she quiets some. He pins her to his chest with his chin on the back of her head, making silent shushing noises. She sniffles and nods, holding tight to him.

“I- I’ve missed you, D-Dave, right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s what I call myself at least. Not what Marissa calls me, but close enough.”

“Marissa?”

“Mom.”

“Oh. Ok. T-Terezi,” she adds quietly. “I call myself Terezi.”

“Terezi. Now there’s a name that fits you. Terezi Pyrope.”

She sniffles and fists her hands in the back of his shirt. He rocks her a little until she calms again. Karkat is smiling fondly at his self-deemed little sister as he does so. “Terezi,” he mutters. “Yeah, that definitely fits you. Glad to _finally fucking know you ball-biting whore._ ”

“I love you too, Karkat. Get in on this hug.” Karkat makes a noise like he’s going to refuse, but Dave pulls him in with three tugs on his shirt. He sighs, like he lost some big fight, and hugs them back. There’s a gentle noise—someone clearing their throat—and Dave looks over to see a white-as-fuck woman with green eyes, scars peeking out of the collar of her shirt and long, luscious, black hair to her waist. She has a blue bandana wrapped around her neck with an odd M-like shape on the corner. Outside of her skirt, she has a long back-drop of the same navy blue starting at her sides and ending in a well-hemmed line.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s nothing to be hugging the other two. The others look up and break away, each flushed with a deep red hue. “M’Dave. Who’re you?”

“Kaitlin.”

“Dave Winslow,” he adds quietly. “I think you’re one of the students in the class I TA for?”

“Yes, you are.” She holds her hand out, exposing the black basketball bracelet with the same M-thing on the top and the number six under it. He notices it. He doesn’t come straight out and say he does, though. “Kaitlin Maryam.”

He takes the hand but yanks her forward, into him. She gasps audibly and lands against his chest as he locks his arms around her. She tries to push away, but she stops when Karkat clears his throat and shakes his head. “O-oh,” she whispers, leaning into him. “You do know.”

“Yeah, I do.” He answers. “What do you call yourself?”

“Kanaya.”

“Cute,” he whispers, holding her tightly. She tucks her head under his jaw and breathes slowly, deeply, trying to still the tears. He lightly kisses her temple, tells her that it’s ok to cry (fuck knows he did that more than enough last night).

“I don’t want to go to first hour now,” Terezi mutters as she kicks her foot in the dirt. “I- c-can we go to, like, a diner or something? There’s one not far away! We can get breakfast there and be back by third hour if we’re slow.”

“Can you afford to miss that class, Karkat?” Kanaya asks, almost teasingly, one-hundred-percent lovingly, thirteen-percent seriously.

“I’m failing History as is. Fuck that shit, man. I’ll fail no matter what I do. What about you? You love design.”

“I’ll be fine with missing one day’s worth of time. And you, Dave? Can you miss your first two hours?”

“Got kicked outta them. Don’t have anything, technically, till fifth. Only reason I came now was to see you guys.”

“Let’s go,” Terezi says as she takes his elbow and pulls him away. He tightens his hand around Kanaya’s elbow, pulling her along. Karkat follows along with. They settle in the diner with Terezi at Dave’s side, pressed against him, and Kanaya is sitting with Karkat. They order immediately (it appears they have all been here before, which Dave isn’t surprised about) and sit in silence for a long while, unsure 

of where to start.

Terezi yawns at his side and shrugs one shoulder when Kanaya gives her a bad look. Karkat snorts into his mouth and smirks. It’s refreshing to see the man that had once always been so angry as calm (peaceful, tranquil, none of these three words fit him, but Dave thinks that “calm” is the closest there is to something like this).

“This is weird,” Dave admits quietly.

“What is?” Terezi asks as she looks up from drawing patterns in the laminated wood of the table. Kanaya looks up from messing in her bag for a moment before returning back to it. She has a look of utter concentration, as if whatever she is looking for could mean the end of the world, and Karkat tugs at the basketball bracelet on his wrist (fit with that weird sixty-nine symbol that had been on his hand last week in grey embroidery string and the number four on the other side) one last time.

“We all have names now,” he whispers, looking up. The others have to strain to hear him, but he doesn’t think he can lift his voice. “We’re not Four, Six, Seven and Thirteen anymore. We’re Keven, Kailtin, Theresa and Steven now. Karkat, Kanaya, Terezi and Dave. It’s so weird. Like a different world.”

“It is a different world,” Terezi giggles. “I have a little sister, did you know? Her name is Mary. She’s three months old and adorable. I love her. She’s a miracle baby. Mom and dad weren’t supposed to 

be able to have kids, so they adopted me, but somehow I ended up with a little sister.”

“Funny,” Dave whispers. “Marissa and Robert only adopted me because Matt was bored while they were waiting for their flight out of Seattle and saw a group of kids being called Trolls. They adopted me just to spite them. Well, not really. They asked to have me moved to Houston to host as a foster family, then I was adopted when they decided they could eventually put up with me. But you all knew that part." 

“So you got lucky and were the one that they picked.” Karkat shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, shrugging yet again. “Some things with them are worse than they were at The House. Others, they’re better. I think that all of you were lucky enough to find families that wanted you and not to piss some people off.”

“Found it!” Kanaya finally cheers as she sits up, leaving her back pack to rest on the ground. In her hand, she holds a black sweat band worn about the wrist. On one side, in bright red, is stitched the number “13” but on the front there is a sort of CD. “I didn’t know what to put your symbol as,” she explains as she hands it over. He takes it and slips it on without question, placing the number under his wrist like the others kept theirs. “So I stitched in something that had to do with music. You were always singing when we were children—when none of us were looking”—she winks and he grins at the gesture—“so CDs. I think that with the black background, though, it came out to look more like a record.”

“S’ok, Kanaya,” he smiles. “I love it. Thanks.”

“Of course. Now all thirteen of us have them. A reminder of the past”—she points to the number under her wrist, followed by the other—“and the memory that we just have to keep on going.”

“It’s perfect.” He answers. “Now, tell me about you. What’s your family like?”

“We host a lot of foster kids,” she shrugs. “But thus far I am the only one to be officially adopted. I was really sick when the Maryams found me—the lymphoma hit stage four. I lived with them for one week before they adopted me. Oh, gosh, I sobbed so violently. They put me through chemo, gave me a home, a family, something to look forward to. I think that without that, I wouldn’t have been able to get through full-body radiation. I found out, after being cleared, that they adopted me so readily because they wanted me to be able to die saying that I had a mother and father. I begged them not to give me back and, I swear, if looks could kill! I would be so dead! They still host foster kids, though, and I feel like if they didn’t, something would be wrong. Your turn, Karkat.”

“Nothing much to say. Everyone else went really quickly after you left, Dave. By the time that you were officially adopted, it was just me an’ Kanaya left, and that was only after, like, eight months, right? I think that after your fostering they realized that even Trolls are desirable and started to let us into the room when potential families were showed around, we were taken in so quickly for our horrible figures—you know how we looked, especially after all of those beatings—thanks, Miss,” he adds as the waitress hands them their food. She smiles, offers to get Terezi more juice, and Dave opts in to take some more, too.

“Anyway, by then, Kanaya was so sick that I had to hold her every night for her to be able to fall asleep. Damn, it hurt, watching her go through that. It was completely by accident. The Vantases were just in town, you know. Randomness. They only came in to glance through to know what to expect when they came back here to adopt when they found me holding her. She was sobbing, at the time, and complaining about the pain—ow, don’t get me wrong, Kanaya! I’m not holding it against you! Yes, I’m positive! _Stop pinching me, woman, you have nails from Hell! Thanks_ , fuck, what the hell,” he rubs at the offended skin.

“Anyway, they found us like that and, I’m told later, watched me help her slink off to sleep. They felt really guilty about it, but they decided that they just had to have me, especially when they found out I was a Troll Child and had no name. Kanaya was left there, alone, for three years before the Maryams had her leave there. I moved into my current neighborhood and found myself surprised by the luck at living near the others. Though, you seem to be unlucky since you don’t live there.”

“Big fuckin’ deal, lucky enough that we got the same school.”

“More than what you usually get.”

“Exactly.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dave and Kanaya arrive at their history class just as the bell rings. They slip into their seats without being noticed by the teacher, but Rose glances up and arches her brow at her, mouthing something. Kanaya smiles back, bites her lip, shrugs and looks away. Rose smiles gently, giggles into her hand, looks around to make sure that no one saw that and turns to look at her desk. Dave quickly takes roll for the class via the seating chart and settles back in his chair to take a nap as he waits for the class to end.

He wakes about five minutes before the bell rings. He stretches his shoulders, his back and pops his neck briefly. Seeing as how he’s in the back of the room, no one notices. He takes the moment to spin in his chair, completely bored. He listens to the metronome in his gut as the students continue taking notes.

_Tic-Tic-Tic  
Two-Ninety-Eight, Two-Ninety-Nine, Three Hundred…._

The bell rings. The students make a silent cheer as they push their binders into their bags and stand. The teacher sighs and says “oh, I guess we won’t get to the best part today” and the more obnoxious students groan (ie, John and Jade, though Rose looks like it takes everything she has not to make the same noise). Kanaya, being the only one that doesn’t, gives her a half-hearted smile as she hugs her textbook to her chest. “It’s ok, Miss Ball,” she says and if Dave didn’t know better, he would say that she was being entirely serious. “I guess we’ll just have to be in suspense until tomorrow!”

“Sure,” she nods and beckons her out. He almost leaves before her, except she tells Rose that they aren’t going to sit together during lunch and kisses her when she almost-pouts. Rose shrugs and bounds off to catch up with the might-as-well-be-siblings-they-look-enough-alike-anyway. Kanaya takes him by the ear, pinching (and, fuck, is Karkat right—those acrylics feel like they have ripped a hole right through the shell), until he is forced to follow.

She takes him to her locker and collects her lunch box. She’s gracious enough to let him get his money and then wait in line with him. They don’t say anything to each other—they don’t need to—and he collects his pizza and apple juice before she leads him outside. They pass the amphitheater (where a shitty garage band is playing an equally shitty cover of 3OH!3) and the greenhouse. He’s tempted to ask where she’s leading him when they approach the football field and turn under the bleachers. There are five students sitting around, one of them in a football jersey (number eleven with the name “Ampora” printed on the back) and one of the two women is wearing the cheerleading uniform. He remembers the game tonight (games on Mondays are ridiculous, he thinks, but he’ll show up—his parents will make him) and figures that’s why they’re in uniform.

“Kanaya!” One of the boys greets. The man in the uniform looks up, chokes lightly, and scrambles to his feet when he sees him. He gives the girl in the cheerleading uniform a kiss on the top of the head and _runs as fast as he can_. “Weird…. Eridan isn’t usually like that.”

“It’s my charming personality,” Dave replies as he plops down in the circle. Kanaya sits much more gracefully and calmly unpacks her lunch. She gives some sort of sandwich to the buff guy that he got in the fight with last week (Edward something-foreign-that-makes-his-tongue-tickle-when-he-says-it). She hands the boy who greeted her a lollipop, the woman out of the uniform a CapriSun (cherry or something, he can’t see the name, but he can see a couple of the berries on the front) and the woman in uniform applesauce with the plastic spoon she got while they were in line. Kanaya takes out a packet of chocolate pudding and a metal spoon, opening it precisely.

“You sure, Aya?” The one in the uniform asks. She brushes a lock of hair back from where it got caught around her eyeglasses. “That’s all you have for your lunch, then.”

“Skipped first and second hour to eat breakfast with Terezi and Dave.”

“Who’s Terezi?”

“Theresa.”

“Oh.” She pauses, eyebrow pinched, and shrugs her shoulders. She opens the applesauce, takes a spoonful but stops just before her mouth as her eyes widen. “Oh. Wait, wait, Terezi is what she calls herself?”

“Yes.”

“That means you’re Thirteen!” She cheers. She nearly forgets to put the applesauce down as she throws her arms around his neck. He takes it in stride, eating the pizza around her arm. She giggles a little as he does so.

“Guilty as charged.”

“Wow,” the boy with the lollipop hanging out his mouth gasps. “You sure have changed!”

“Before we get any farther,” Kanaya adds. “Perhaps we should hold our numbers out?”

Within a few seconds (two, the metronome declares), wrists, each adorned with the same black sweat band, are stretched out into the middle of the circle. Dave and Kanaya add theirs without really needing to.

The girl around his neck has the number twelve stenciled in with a royal purple color, doubled up to be noticeable. The guy with the lollipop has a murky-brown-water two, the girl who has thus-far said nothing has a one in a red a little darker than his own and the man with the sandwich has a nine in deep blue coloring.

One has long, red hair typical of a woman of ginger-descent. Her green eyes are hidden behind hazy contacts (that almost make it look like she has no pupils). Her skin is dotted with red freckles and her olive skin slips under the navy brown of the school uniform smoothly. She has her hair pulled up in a bun, held in place with a hair clip. “My name is Amanda Megido,” she explains when she he notices him observing her. She elongates the pronunciation of her “O”s in a way that’s too infuriating to be anything but faked. “I call myself Aradia.”

Edward—number Nine—has thick, corded muscles fit to doing manual labor. He has already forgone his school jacket and undone his white shirt to expose a dark-blue-slightly-black bro tank. He has dark, untrusting eyes, hidden behind the glasses that Dave cracked during their last fight. They still appear usable, though. His hair is dark to match his eyes. “Equius Zahhak,” he explains. Dave nods once.

Two has a curly mop of unruly brown hair and expressive brown eyes. He has also taken off his jacket (which Dave does now because, despite it being mid-November, it’s still a little too hot for it), showing off his Drama-Club teeshirt. His smile is warm and he stutters a lot, giggling now and again as he talks. He gives off the air of someone who trusts too easily, versus Equius who doesn’t trust at all. Dave wonders how he looks. “T-Travis Nitram. I call myself Tavros b-b-but you can call me whichever one you want!”

The cheerleader finally releases him and leans back. The uniform is white on the top, showing the entirety of her creamy midsection up in some sort of triangle that dips between her breasts lined with an inch-long section of navy blue. The letters of their school are embroidered over her chest in that same blue color and have gems inset to match. The skirt (skort, he doesn’t know nor does he care to know) stops mid-thigh and is pleated. She has on a pair of white maryjane-like shoes, only they cover her feet completely. She has long, blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes—or, she had blue eyes, but after so many beating at The House, enough popped blood vessels have accumulated in her irises that they appear dark purple. “Feferi Peixes,” she says. “And that’s both my name and what I call myself. When I was adopted, my parents asked me what I wanted to be named.”

“Cool,” he replies. “Steven Winslow. I go by my middle name, Dave.”

Enough said. They sit back down and eat. Everyone has finished their gifts from Kanaya and the majority of their lunch (and the other half of the round pizza Dave bought, which was split in four to accommodate everyone, courtesy of his black Balinsong). At length, Feferi looks up from the small salad she had brought with her. “Sorry about Eridan. He’s really awkward about everything lately. It doesn’t 

help that Equius here told all of us that you blew him a couple weeks ago. Why’d you do that?”

He shrugs. “Felt like it.”

“You just randomly blew a guy ‘cus’ you _felt_ like it.”

“He was complaining about not getting laid. I asked if he considered blow jobs to be ‘getting laid’ and he said he didn’t see why not. So I offered to blow him. Thought I was shitting him for a while.”

“Let me rephrase. You blew _my boyfriend_ because you _felt_ like it.”

“Obviously, you’re not doing your job. Isn’t it the woman’s job to make sure her man’s every need is pacified?”

“ _I’ll have you know—_ “

“Yeah, don’t care. Still don’t know a joke from sexism, do ya, Feferi? When’d ya get together?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Answer my question.”

“Eight days ago.”

“I blew him while he was single,” he answers. “Relax, I don’t do that stuff for people in relationships. I asked if he was single first. I don’t put up with the bullshit that it entails when the other person is in a relationship. I’ll give you pointers anytime though.”

She flushes bright red, squeaks out a “no thanks” and shoves her face into her salad. He smirks to himself and leans back. Tavros has his face buried in his hands, blushing horrendously, and he looks like he just wants to die. Dave considers detailing it out just so he can watch the boy grow more and more embarrassed, but he files the information back for later. That’s something he’ll definitely be using.

The warning bell rings and everyone but he and Equius jump to their feet. Kanaya and Feferi have their lunch boxes shut and shoved in their bags as they run hurriedly to the school. Tavros ducks around them, awkwardly stumbling in front of Aradia until he picked up speed. Aradia smiles at him, pats his shoulder and follows after, her run just a little faster than the man’s. He looks at Equius as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

“We cool?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. Dave lifts a bro-fist, which is returned before they take off across the field.


	7. Chapter 7

Rose, John and Jade don’t ask where he disappeared off to when they meet up at the dojo. He sees Karkat, briefly, before he goes into class. Dirk and he talk a bit before he opens the lesson. He gets a text from Matt saying that mom was pissed at him, so he hurries home, scooting his way on his skateboard as fast as he possibly can.

He is made to clean his room, the living room, the kitchen, his bathroom and rake the leaves when his mom finds out about him being dropped from all his morning classes. Matt looks smug as he snidely slides in that he is going to college a year early. His mom nods and lets him out of his chores. Dave doesn’t mention that the classes he is in now are the ones that Matt is going to take next year (it’s not necessary) or that there is no way in hell that he’ll be able to pass.

The chores take him until just after dinner (his mom is nice enough to let him pause to eat, rather unlike the women at The Home). While they’re at the table, though, his mom asks “what do you want for your birthday?”

“Huh? I don’t know….”

“A wallet or anything?”

“There’s this one at the music store I go to a lot,” he answers, nodding. “It’s got a picture of a record on it. That’d be really cool to have.”

“Ok. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. My birthday’s in, like, two weeks, what’s the big deal?”

“You only turn fifteen once, Steven,” his dad replies. He rolls his eyes at that, but manages to smile lightly. He nods and returns to eating.

“Your grandmother wants to see the both of you over the winter break,” his mom hums. “What would you two say about going to see her?”

“In Seattle?” Matt asks.

“Well, of course. She’s had so many surgeries lately that she can’t fly out here like usual. I was thinking that the three of us fly out and spend some time with her. A week or so. If your father can get it off, I’m sure we could go over Christmas. Do either of you have plans?”

They shake their heads. Dave is nervous to think of how strained Matt will be by the end of a sexless week ( _sexless? This isn’t sex, it’s rape_ ) but doesn’t let on about it. He finds that he’s extraordinarily good at being able to mask his emotions, even though he doesn’t know how or why. It’s how it is. “Ok,” she smiles and returns to Dave. “So, Matt tells me that you’re really social lately.” 

“Not really,” he shrugs. “I’m just hanging out with more people during lunch and stuff.”

“Usually you sit by yourself though, right?”

“No, I used to always be with Johnny or be in the library. Johnny moved and I already read every book that school has, so I decided I’d start sitting with Jade, John and Rose."

“You weren’t with them today,” Matt points out. “I had to go get Jade so Coach Hussie could talk to her about tomorrow night’s game. Where were you?”

“I was hanging with some old friends from back when I was still in the orphanage.”

The air grows heavy for a moment. At length, his dad chuckles and says “so they live here too? How serendipitous,” and none of them so much as think of saying anything to make the awkward tenseness in the air light up. 

  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Karkat catches him just as he is leaving class that Friday. He has a disgruntled look on his face, uninterested, and there is color to his Mediterranean cheeks that suggests he’s exhausted from the last lesson. “Yo,” the other man greets. “Kanaya wants to hold some stupid Christmas party. She wants you to come. I’m just the fuckin’ messenger.”

“Can’t, goin’ to Seattle.”

It’s like he reached out and placed his finger on top of the metronome. The sound of the _tick-tick-tick_ that he has forever known to trust (it was the only thing he _could_ trust for years) grew quieter as he stared at Karkat. It was still there, in the background, ticking along with his heartbeat, but it seemed like time around the other man just _stopped_. He counted the seconds for no reason other than to fill the silence.

One-hundred and fifty-two seconds later, he finally blinks and nods twice. “Going back home,” he mutters. Dave wonders if the others can hear it, since the other kid is so loud that his mutter is the equivalent of a normal person’s inside voice. “You going back to The House?”

“Maybe. We’re supposed to be there for a week. I don’t know what else I’m going to do.”

“Give the bitch my regards,” he growls. Dave smirks at the common anger and accepts a small, pink-edged envelope. “Kanaya asked me to give this to her girlfriend but like hell I know who the fuck she is. If you don’t fucking give this to her, I will personally rip your throat out.”

He is careful not to chuckle at the other man. “You’d have to reach my throat first, shortstuff.”

A flash of anger nearly has Dave knocked to the ground, even without being touched. Karkat looks like he could kill, even as he starts saying “I’m not—“ and stops as he recognizes something behind his glasses. He shoves his middle finger into his face, pushes him away and practically storms out of the room.

Dave is only slightly disappointed that it didn’t end in a fight.

He gives Rose the note before he leaves, skating in the opposite direction that Karkat went. 

  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feferi bounds up to him the moment he is three feet inside of the school grounds. She is in her cheerleading uniform again and has attracted attention from everyone as they hoped to see her underwear while she’s running. 

Dave doesn’t usually spend time with anyone in the morning. Most of the people at the school either ignore him because he’s intimidating (his smarts are, no one here has seen him with a butterfly knife except for the other Twelve, Rose, Jade and John—and even then, they haven’t seen the things that he can do with it, unlike the Twelve and some of them still have memories about it). Matt has already detoured to keep from being caught in his circle of slutitude ( _he started it, Dave realizes, because Matt taught him that it’s perfectly normal to have random sexual relationships with pretty much just about everyone_ ). This leaves everyone gawking at them as he catches her in one simple motion and lifts her up by her knees, supporting her lower back. She clings to his neck like she’s going to fall and he makes his way over to where she originally came from.

“Hey, Karkat.”

He looks up from where he was pretending to ignore Aradia’s story about a geologist or a gynecologist (they’re pretty much the same thing, anyway, in Dave’s opinion) finding something unusual in their lookings—something that looks, suspiciously, like a laptop with Crosby’s face on it. “I think this is yours.”

Karkat lifts his hands accordingly and he lightly tosses her into his arms.

Kanaya, Karkat, Feferi, Aradia, Tavros, himself and another boy he hasn’t yet met stand around in the circle. He has slightly-greenish blond hair that suggest he has been swimming in a chlorine pool lately. He has heterochromatic eyes, the one on his left (Three’s right) being a deep amber-brown spotted with enough blood vessels to be red and the other one is a darker blue, flecked with red to match the other, but not enough to pigment the entirety of his iris, unlike Feferi’s or Karkat’s. Dave remembers him being shoved into The House when he was five because of those “gross, defective” eyes. It was the thing that brought the two of them together. They both had something fucked up with their eyes. He looks to have been in a rush out of the house this morning because one shoe is white, the other black, and they’re both left shoes. Three notices him looking at his feet and moves the white shoe back behind him, hiding it while also casting a shadow dark enough to make it look black.

“Three?” He offers. He remembers the other boy’s lisp as a kid—going from an interdental one on normal occasions to a lateral or, on rarer occasions, palatal when he was upset. Dave and Karkat had both been left at The House when they were one day old (something neither of them were allowed to forget) and they made friends with him quicker than anyone else. The others were abandoned shortly thereafter, though, and back when they were eight Karkat used to wonder how he could still remember that. But now, though, Three speaks with a clear, defined speech pattern. Dave suspects that if he gets upset, he’ll revert to the lisp.

“Yep. Stuart,” he explains. “Stuart Captor. Well, that’s my father’s surname, my mother’s is Phillips. She didn’t change her name after they were married, but I still took his after I was taken out of The House. I call myself Sollux.”

“Steven Winslow,” he says back. “I call myself David—Dave, to you. I see you got rid of that lisp. Shit was funny as hell.”

“It was _annoying_.” The vein over his eyeglasses twitches and a sudden up-quirk of lips pulls Dave to smirk. “But, yeah, speech therapy and stuff. It comes back when I’m upset, but until then I can hold an actual conversation.”

“I see. Say, you said your mom’s name is Phillips?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know a guy named Matt Winslow?”

“I do, in fact. We’re sort-of friends. Why?”

“Guys my brother.”

“I’ve been friends with him for four years now.”

“Ok.”

“And I didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know either.”

“Let me see your phone.” He nods and pulls it out of his pocket. “What lunch do you have?”

“Fourth. You?”

“Double lunch. You sit with Kaya and the others?”

“Kaya?”

“Kanaya. I just like the two A’s offset by two consonants. Called her Kana for a while, but then I got braces. Man, you don’t have _any_ of our numbers in here. Give me a moment more….” He pulls out his own phone, opens something up and starts transferring information. He finally gives the phone back after typing something into his own phone. Dave checks his contact book to see a new Group Connection called Trolls with twelve other entries, all labeled via number. He goes through and replaces One, Two, Three, Four, Six, Seven, Nine and Twelve with the names that they call themselves.

He gets a text just as soon as he finishes it, only to find that it’s Sollux. He wonders why the man is texting him when he’s not even a foot away, only to find that it’s also routed through PesterChum.

“I don’t have texting capabilities,” he explains at the eyebrow. “So I just keep PesterChum up on my phone constantly.”

“I do both.”

twinArmageddon [TA] began pestering gatedBoy [GB]

TA: we need two talk  
TA: about matt  
TA: meet me out2iide of the library at the 2tart of lunch  
TA: iit 2houldn’t take two long, but don’t make any promii2e2 two anyone for eating lunch wiith them  
GB: ok  
GB: why  
TA: ii know  
TA: about your relatiion2hiip  
GB: ok  
GB: library it is

twinArmageddon [TA] ceased pestering gatedBoy [GB]

Dave has never felt so sick before in his life.


	8. Chapter 8

He spends first and second hour in the engineering class. The first class is full of juniors learning fundamentals and the second class is full of seniors putting these things to work. One of them nearly blows up his entire counter before he catches his wrist and shakes his head. “Pay attention to what you’re doing to which part,” he growls before walking away. The person on the opposite counter scoots away from him. 

Third hour comes and he slumps off to Miss Ball’s class. He grades worksheets, decides that Kanaya, though often falling into a habit of capitalizing each word and falling out of the same thing, gets almost the same grades as Rose. He’s gentle about it, though, but Miss Ball doesn’t seem to notice. 

Then fourth hour comes around. He says goodbye to Kanaya, saying he might catch up, he might not, either way he has something else to do. She nods and leaves to go sit with Rose and the others. He waits outside of the library for three minutes before Sollux shows up. His jacket is closed tightly and he’s nursing a split lip he didn’t have earlier in the day. There’s blood on the collar of his shirt that stands out in perfect three-D effects, much like his eyes. Dave thinks he looks better with the combination of blue and red than anything else. “Thorry I’m late,” he mutters, wiping at his lip. “Thome athholeth dethided they needed a beating.”

He smirks at the other man. “Sounds like you had a rough time. You must not have gotten a single punch in.”

The other man smirks, glances around the hall and flashes the end of a blade of some sort. Dave smirks back, glances around and tells him to put it away. Sollux obliges immediately. “Can we talk somewhere more private?” Dave asks. “I don’t really want anyone to overhear about me an’ Matt.” Sollux nods, glances around, and leads him to the other side of the school. He’s taken to the auditorium, where, while Dave has never quite been here before (no reason to, Matt’s in sports, not drama), he is taken to the back, up a metal ladder and onto the roof. Sollux opens his bag, pulls out a blue-and-red lunch box and tosses him half of a sandwich.

“Tho,” he mutters, quietly, clears his throat and tries again without the lisp. “So, Matt talks about you a lot. I thought you were older—like, twins or something.”

“No, we’re not.”

“And he just—fucks you.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So? He used to tell me stories about how you would fight back. Some sort of test, he thought, and he knew that if he continued on, you would stop fighting and just let him do what he wants, but now you don’t fight back at all. He says that’s why he’s starting to get more demanding—because you’ve stopped fighting.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God, I was just startin’ to think that this wouldn’t be so hard to hear, but, fuck, how much do you know?”

“Matt tells me everything. It’s like I’m his fuckin’ diary or something. It was awkward at the start, but now I’m just used to it.”

“He told you everything. How detailed did he get?”

His face colors a bright, bright red and he has to put his half of the sandwich down in order to hide behind his hands. He shifts a little and Dave can’t tell if it’s because he’s that uncomfortable or if it’s because a snake has woken underneath him and he is trying to keep it asleep. He doesn’t know which one he wants more—which he would prefer. “I- I know that you- you give a good blow job—and how you do tho. So. Fuck it. I altho know that when you’re dethperate for releathe, you’ll do anything he athkth you to. I- I altho know that the other day, y-you were in the hothpital becauthe he wath too rough on you, thaid that he didn’t want to be accuthed of rape ever again. He altho geth really violent when you don’t fight back. It pitheth him off, acthually. From around thkool, I know that you’ll give almotht anyone a blow job, so you’re known ath a thlut.”

“Oh, fuck, that means he went into deta—oh, _fuck, someone, kill me now._ ”

“I would be happy to oblidthe you, but I feel like KK wouldn’t apprethiate it. Can I throw my two-centh in on thith, though?”

“On—my death or my relationship with Matt?”

“Matt.”

“Ok.”

“I think you thould thop it. He hath a big head because of it. He thouldn’t feel like he ownth you, but he obviouthly does. Pluth, even though you’re not technically related, ithn’t this still inthetht? Becauthe that’s groth man. That’th, like, you dating Terethzi.” He curls his nose at the thought of it.

“I think it is,” he mutters, back. “We’re still brothers, even without blood. And I want to stop, but I don’t think I can get him to.”

“Well, if you ever need to, you can stay the night at my place. Slowly wane him off.” They finish in silence and begin to pack up the rest of Sollux’s lunch so that they can go their opposite ways. Just before the ladder, Dave stops Sollux. The other man is already part way down the ladder by the time he gets his attention. Dave hasn’t gotten on yet, though, so he’s still at the top of the story.

“Um, thanks, Sol. Uh…. Don’t- don’t tell anyone. I- I’ll blow you anytime, too. Just say the word.”

“Sorry,” He replies. “I’m not interested in people so desperate for approval that they’ll do anything to get it.”

“ _I’m not desperate for approval._ ”

He merely arches one brow and descends into the darkness. Dave is left wondering if he truly is that desperate. He shakes it from his head—because, no, he’s fucking not—and climbs down. Sollux is already gone, so he goes to find Kanaya at the table with Jade, John and Rose. He doesn’t say anything, merely buys some apple juice and a muffin and sits down to eat with them. He doesn’t feel like he can say anything, even if he tried.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He, Rose, Jade and Kanaya walk home with each other. Well, more appropriately, Rose and Jade walk home with Kanaya and he just-so-happens to be going the same way. They are part way through the park they’re cutting through when Kanaya looks up at him, hums, and says “Karkat said you’re going back to Seattle over the break.”

“Yep.”

“Will you be returning to The House?”

“I don’t know yet. Probably. Piss them off. You know, that sort of thing. Why do you ask?”

“If you do go, I would like you to pin something up on The Board, however I do not wish to give it to you if you don’t plan to go there originally.”

“Yeah, I’ll totally go then. Gives me an excuse to return to that hell-hole. What is it?”

“Just a few pictures of us and our new families. I think you should do that same, Dave. Take a picture with the four of you to pin up beside us. Maybe we can finally give the new Trolls some hope.”

He smirks and nods. “I think I might. We’ll see.”

“Ooh, Rose,” Kanaya giggles as her eyes catch something off to the side. “The ice cream vendor is here today! Let’s get some!”

“You know I don’t like ice cream, Kaity.”

“I know, but I do. Share it with me? _Pretty please_?”

She sighs over dramatically. “Only if I get to pick the flavor.”

“Ok! Dave, Jade, why don’t you go on ahead? We’ll catch up soon. C’mon, Rose! Before all the good ones are taken!”

“He’s probably been here for hours, Kaity,” she replies. “Most of the ones you like will be gone by now.”

“I can hope!”

Rose offers a gentle laugh and follows after her at a much more reasonable pace than Kanaya’s giddy run. Dave smiles faintly at the movement and continues on.

“How do you and Kaitlin know each other?” Jade asks after waiting for them to get out of earshot. He glances at her, having almost forgotten her presence. Her usually bubbly, excited demeanor has been quieted (he doesn’t doubt it has to do with the failed test currently resting in her arms) and her eyes have replaced a look of interest with that of curiosity. 

“We were friends when we were kids. Why?”

“You call her Kanaya, but her name is Kaitlin.”

“It’s her nickname, just like mine is Dave.”

“What’s your real name? Oh, David, duh, that was a stupid question.”

“Nah, my first name is Steven. David is my middle name.”

She pauses, thinks it over, and decides: “Dave fits you better.”

“I thought so, too.”

“So, what’s The House? And why is it in Seattle?”

“Kanaya and I were adopted out of the same orphanage,” he explains quietly, watching the grounds to make sure no one gets close enough to overhear them—him. “The House is the name we gave the orphanage. Of course, it has a real one, but the fake one makes it easier for us to think of that place. It’s a horrible orphanage—constantly abuses children, y’know, beatings and shit.”

Her voice is breathy, held in disbelief. “ _Really_?”

“Yeah. Kanaya always had it really bad.”

“What are Trolls?”

“Why?”

“You say it almost like its half in contempt and half in pride. Contemptuous pride. What does it mean to be a Troll in that meaning?”

“Trolls are kids who the owners of the orphanage know would never be of interest to outlying families. According to the oldest one in our thirteen-ranked area—she was number Five, that’s also why Keven, Karkat, whichever name you know him by, called me Thirteen that one time”—she nods her head—“there have only ever been two or three, maybe six at a stretch, at a time, but during our stay there, there were thirteen of us. The largest group there has ever been.

“Trolls aren’t given names,” he admits quietly, glancing over to where Kanaya and Rose are now arguing over the ice cream flavor. They nudge each other every now and then, half to get the other to agree, half to just touch. “We had to name ourselves, but if we so much as tried to whisper what that name was to each other, just to have some way to call each other, we would be beaten until we forgot was it was. You’ve seen, um, who’s a good choice? Oh, Terezi, do you know her? Theresa Pyrope?”

“Yeah, she’s in my gym class.”

“Have you seen her eyes?”

“Yeah, they’re really red, but they’re kind of green, too.”

“The red is from popped blood vessels. That happens from too much pressure or anything, really, to restrict oxygen from getting to the eyes. Well, when they beat us, that would happen. S’why Keven’s and Theresa’s eyes are so red. We were told we weren’t allowed to name ourselves because, on the slight chance that we did get adopted, which was none, they still wanted our families to name us, make us feel wanted or some bullshit like that. We were kids. We didn’t know how to rebel. Some of us, like Tavros, still don’t know how to stand up for ourselves. We named ourselves without telling anyone—we could call ourselves something, keep ourselves from going crazy, but we couldn’t call each other by those names. Number Five—I haven’t met up with her yet, so I don’t know her name—was about fourteen when she suggested we Number ourselves off. One, Two, Three, so on. She’s the oldest out of all of us. I was… six at the time, yeah, six. No, no, I was five because she’s ten years my senior, exact, and she was fifteen, not fourteen. Ten used to joke about it all the time. He joked about everything. We decided to number ourselves off by who could take the most pain without breaking—thirteen being most, one being least, but that’s not entirely true. Some of us switched numbers—like One and Twelve—when we decided that it was funny, since it almost went in the circle of the zodiac.”

“Who didn’t move?”

“Myself, Kanaya, eleven, ten and Karkat.”

“What was it originally?”

“Myself at thirteen, Aradia at twelve, Eleven at eleven, I don’t know his name yet, nor do I Ten’s, ah, Equius switched from eight to nine and eight switched from nine to eight, but they were already so close that it was pretty much a tie anyway. We flipped a coin to determine the original. Terezi and Five switched, Kanaya stayed the same. Karkat’s the same, unlike Sollux who was Two, though by now I’m sure he’s higher. Tavros is the same, originally being Three, but became two and the first was Feferi. So, I guess we weren’t really like the zodiac, that just kind-of happened that way in the end. Where was I going with this?”

“Ah, had to name yourselves in secrecy.”

“Right. Ok, then. So, beaten, checked that off. Kanaya had cancer when I was adopted out. Oh! Adoption, so what happened was my family saw us being called Trolls and all and I was taken. The others were allowed to be adopted shortly after I was, but Kanaya had cancer. So, yeah. that’s pretty much it. I don’t remember what else I was going to say.”

“What’s The Board?”

“It’s a cork board. Typically, there are announcements that none of the keepers wish to say to the children, and then there are also some ex-kids who post pictures of their new families. If we were to put pictures up on the Troll half of it, then I think we might give some kids hope. Unbridled, since the moment you turn eighteen there, they kick you out with only a single job that usually really sucks. That’s what happened to Five.”

“Wow. That place is horrible.”

“Yep. Hell-hole.”

“Dave?”

“Yeah?”

“How old were you when you finally got a name?”

“Ten.”

“What? You were _ten_?”

“Yeah.”

“ _How_?”

“I was first taken into Foster Care when I was eight, just to see if they could afford to keep me. They thought that I just didn’t like my name or like saying my name until Matt found the papers legally giving them custody rights and that I didn’t have a name on them. They were _pissed_ , but that was, ultimately, what pushed them over the adoption line. They asked what I wanted to be called and I told them it’s the parent’s job to name the kid.”

“Wait, so you lived two years with your family but without a name?”

“One and a half. Who’s that?”

“Who’s who?”

“That guy over there. He’s coming up to us.”

“What? Oh. Eric!” She reaches up and waves him over. The boy has pale skin and dark purple eyes, freckled only with dark enough blood vessels to turn them that color. He has blonde hair with a single jolt of purple hair to match the color of his eyes at the forehead. He wears the same uniform that he does, chains excluded from the pants but added around his shoulders. Dave knows him, but he doesn’t find himself locating how he does. He’s too busy staring at the gun pointed at Jade’s chest.

A fierce sense of protectiveness overwhelms him as he watches the woman’s face lose color. “Money,” he demands. It feels like it’s Dave job—his role in a society they created for themselves—to push her out of the way and aim the gun at himself. 

So that’s what he does. He takes the barrel in one hand and pulls it over to aim at his own heart. His other one whips out so fast that he already has the Balinsong out, pointed straight at his throat. “Stand down,” he orders. “Why are you so desperate to hold your friend up?”

“She’s not my _friend_.” He growls, trying to knock the gun back to the woman. “And, trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if I had the _choice_.”

“If you can shoot me before I cut you, I dare you to. Hell, if you can, you can go after Jade.”

“You’re fuckin’ cocky.”

“Do we have an agreement?”

“…sure.”

“ _Go_.”

“ _STOP_!” He blinks and turns to the familiar sound of the voice running to get to them. “ _STOP, STOP, STOP! STAND DOWN, ERIDAN! HE’S THIRTEEN!_ ”

Dave blinks, long and slow, but the metronome hasn’t even ticked by the time he reopens his eyes again. He jerks the other man forward and takes his wrist, pushing the sleeve up to reveal a black wrist band. On the top, a three-pointed double-lined wave stands. On the bottom, in the same dark purple of hair and eyes, is the number eleven.

Karkat knocks Eridan back and forcibly rips the gun from his hand. “ _I fucking told you, man, to get it in your head to not do this shit. Ok? Ok. Fuck. You could have just killed Thirteen_!”

Eric—Eridan—whichever it is doesn’t seem to have any qualms about it. He just looks over Karkat’s shoulder, shrugs one shoulder, and says “Eridan Ampora.”

“Dave.” He replies. It’s all that needs to be said before Karkat is shoving him away. Kanaya, as she comes back with Rose licking a line of mint ice cream out of her hand, greets the two of them. Karkat grunts back a “not now” and nearly pushes Eridan off the metaphorical cliff as they get out of eyesight. 

“Weird,” the once-orphan woman hums. “They usually save their fighting for indoors, where no one can overhear them but the twelve of us.” She pauses and nods her head to Dave. “Thirteen of us. I wonder what got into them. Huh? Jade? What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to be sick. Will you be ok to work on our project?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. I guess…. Le’s go….”

Dave wraps his arm around her shoulders, tucks her under his side and keeps walking. She sticks to him. While she’s not looking, though, he changes the contact number for “Eleven” to “Eridan Ampora”.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you want for your birthday?” Kanaya asks one day while he’s in the middle of a conversation with John, Jade and Rose at the cafeteria table.

He shrugs. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Feferi giggles, for once out of the cheerleading uniform and into the women’s uniform (she replaced the light jacket with a matching sweater vest, however). “Maybe because it’s next week and you haven’t, A, been around long enough to insinuate what you want or, B, outright said ‘I want that’.”

“I don’t want _anything_ ,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “Birthdays are ridiculous.”

Feferi giggles. “Remember birthdays back at The House? They were the best.”

Kanaya smiles gently and nods. He shrugs, refuses to answer, and returns to John, telling him to continue with the story about Con Air and how ridiculous it is. John kicks him, says it’s one of the best movies in the universe, and the “hate war” begins.

“Hey, Dave?” Feferi asks on their way in to fifth hour. “Do you think you could come over on your birthday?”

“If this is some sort of surprise party, I swear to gog I will murder you.”

“No! No, of course!”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He does end up going to her house that Friday after school. Rose—who evidently lives just across the street from Kanaya and Feferi, who are literal neighbors—“walks” him there. They stay silent between themselves, not needing words to hinder their silent knowledge of each other. Rose rings the doorbell and there’s a scramble before Feferi finally manages to open the door for him. 

“Hiya!” She giggles, steps aside and lets them in. He does so, reluctant to the point where she has to take him by the shoulders and push him with them. Rose takes his wrists, her fingers curling around the wrist band as she pulls. “The others are in the kitchen.”

“This is some sort of party, isn’t it?” He replies. “I thought I told you I don’t want a party.”

“Don’t be so conceited,” Feferi says as Rose broaches the ranch-style door, pushing it open with her back. “Of course this is a party. None of us are stupid enough to listen to you.”

“You’re a horrible, horrible woman, you know that?”

“I love you two, sweetums. Now get in the kitchen.”

“No.”

“Eridan!” She calls. “Come pick him up!”

“I think you two are doing just fine.”

“ _Please_? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease? Honey, he’s really good at fighting back!”

Eridan sighs, over dramatically, and mutters a “that’s because neither of you knows the basics” beneath his breath. He kicks his feet out at Dave’s ankles and he jumps to avoid it. Rose takes this and pulls him in. Feferi shuts the doors, hugs Eridan’s neck and kisses his cheek. He kisses hers back and releases her. 

Aradia, Tavros, Sollux, Karkat, Kanaya, Terezi, Equius, the two love birds and two others he sort-of recognizes are here, along with Rose, Jade and John, who talk amongst the Trolls, getting acquainted with them. Jade and Rose ask what they call themselves along with what their names are, much to their surprise, and Dave thinks that’s what good friends are all about. They take it as it comes. Nothing is weird to them. Well, not much. 

One of the two people he doesn’t recognize is tall, black, buff and has an unruly mop of ever darker hair. He has this sated look on his face, which is decorated with white and grey face paint. Dave instantly recognizes him as being number Ten (because he is the only one that was darker than Karkat’s heavily Mediterranean skin). He is leaning over Tavros, with his arms around his chest and his chin placed on top of the smaller boy’s forehead. Tavros turns his head, kisses his jaw and moves it back, looking happy. Ten pauses, kisses the top of his head, and returns to looking spaced out. He learns his name is Garret Makara, but he goes by Gamzee, he’s also a pot head and tends to drink a lot, but Tavros has been slowly training both of them out of his boyfriend.

The girl looks disinterested. She has long, dark-brown hair that is frayed at the ends and comes to different lengths. There are locks that stop over her shoulders, locks at her elbows, most at her waist, other at her ears—it’s all style-fully mis-styled. She has hazel eyes (mostly a darker blue shade) covered by a pair of wire-rim glasses. Her shirt is grey with a blue skill and a black biker jacket. She has ripped denims and red converse, as if she’s matching at all. Her name is Vanessa Serket, but she goes by Vriska. 

He updates their names on his phone and notices that all that leaves is Number Five. He waits an hour and a half to ask about where she is.

“Oh, she left just before you got here,” Feferi answers with a warm smile. “Some sort of mayday with her girlfriend. Said she had to help out, she says hi, happy birthday and assumes you’ve grown a lot. She misses you and wants to meet up with you sometime, but no guarantees because of age differences.”

“Ok. Thanks.”

“Course. No problem.”

He misses Five. Due to her age and his being left there, literally, two hours after birth, she had been the Troll to “raise him”, at least until he could walk on his own. Karkat was the same way. He has wasted months of his life wondering whether or not his life would be different be it that she wasn’t a Troll. He has always believed himself to be a Troll by association but at the same time he knows that no one goes to an adoption center to adopt a freaky, defective albino child, so there’s that, too. While no one was looking, she had been the one to name him David—Dave. He doesn’t doubt that he would be saying “I call myself Dave” if his middle name hadn’t been made to be Dave. He misses her, but at the same time he knows that he can get along without her.

For a little while longer, that is.

“Thanks for the party,” he whispers and hugs Feferi while no one is looking. She laughs, says that it’s almost required, and skips off to talk to Sollux. Eridan slides in, jealously, and wraps his arms around her. She doesn’t seem to notice. He goes to talk with Terezi. After a while, John and Vriska worm their ways over. By the end, Jade has argued with Karkat five times and decided that Feferi is an absolute doll.

Dave doesn’t think he could have a better birthday.

He goes home, gets a new wallet (which matches his bracelet and thus makes the CD on the sweatband into a record), a new watch (which he puts on, swears to wear daily and knows he will never need it) and manages to deny Matt sex. The denial is shaky and he knows if Matt pushes it, he wouldn’t be able to stop him, but all he gets is a punch to the gut and a “you’re lucky it’s your birthday, runt”. Dave thinks that baby steps are where he has to start.

He sleeps over at Dirk’s house the next night, just to be safe.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank Terra for telling me about the HUGE ERROR concerning Nepeta's pesterlog. It's been fixed though!! YAY :D

“Hey,” he greets Eridan and the others as he approaches. The football player rolls his eyes at him and returns to talking with Feferi about some sort of movement—he isn’t sure. He doesn’t really care, either. “So,” he turned to Kanaya, “I’ve been thinking about this a lot since I can’t go to your Christmas party—we should all go to a teenage club this Friday. Just go, chill, hang out, party. You know, that sort of thing. I mean, we’re out for the break then anyway.”

“I’d have to ask my parents,” she replies, and there’s a light in her eyes as she says the word, even now, years after she was adopted. Dave feels the same thing every time that “But they’re usually really good about that stuff so long as I stay in contact. Anywhere in mind?”

“This is place called The Bud about three miles away from here.”

“That’s a bit far.”

He shrugs. “It’s the closest one that would cater to all of us.”

“Ok. I’ll ask my mom. I’ll tell the others that, too. I don’t think that Five will come, though. Whatever is going on with her girlfriend is really serious and she thinks she’s going to stay with her for a few more weeks. Y’know, sleeping over, taking care of, that sort of thing. Her daughter doesn’t even know about it, so far as she knows. I gave her your number before you got to that party, though. You can text her anytime.”

“Thanks. Besides, I don’t think that they’ll let a twenty-four-year-old into a teen club anyway.”

“Good point.”

“See you third hour. Tell the idiots,” he swings his head to the others and she huffs out her chest, as if offended. He smiles at her and she smiles back before he disappears, going to find the engineering room for no reason but to have somewhere to be. The two classes are testing today anyway.

He opens his phone and sighs, building the nerve to contact her. He silences the phone, listening to the scratch of pencil on paper.

arsenicCatnip [AC] began pestering gatedBoy [GB]

GB: hi  
GB: are you there???  
AC: :33 < *ac pounces on dave hurriedly*  
AC: :33 < *ac pawses and asks if you still go by dave*  
GB: yeah mom  
GB: im still going by dave  
GB: oh yeah  
GB: *catches*  
AC: :33 < *ac swoons*  
GB: ah yeah  
GB: even you are unable to resist this dastardly charm  
AC: :33 < *ac giggles but doesn't think that dastardly is a real word*  
GB: so?  
AC: :33 < *ac cannot think of a good come back to daves obviously well rounded vo-cat-ulary*  
AC: :33 < *ac thinks that dave cannot pawsibly get smarter*  
GB: obviously not  
AC: :33 < *ac curls around dave, purring gently as she asks how he has been*  
GB: good  
AC: :33 < *ac nuzzles her head on daves leg as she asks about his family, remembering how equius said he was adopted out of the house*  
GB: were good  
GB: when can we meet up  
GB: i cant believe im admitting this  
GB: but I actually miss you a lot  
AC: :33 < *ac misses dave too*  
AC: :33 < *ac remembers dave's not-brother saying that he is going back to the house and asks about it*  
GB: yeah goin to give some trolls some hope  
AC: :33 < *ac smiles at the notion and blows him a heart shaped kiss as she wishes him to have fun*  
GB: *expertly dodges mom’s uncool kisses*  
AC: :33 < *ac frowns, hurt*  
GB: *sighs, wait, why the fuck am I RPing with you?  
AC: :33 < *ac thinks it's because he secretly loves his not-mother-who-has-told-him-not-to-call-her-mom-several-times-before*  
GB: fuck off  
GB: were not doing this again  
GB: how is your girlfriend  
GB: im told she isnt doing well  
GB: well talk about that  
AC: :33 < *ac shrugs as she explains about how the father of her daughter is in town and how she is currently having several pawnic attacks*  
GB: shell be fine  
GB: good luck mom you have your hands full there  
AC: :33 < *ac graciously thanks him for the pawfuct luck he wishes on her right meow*  
AC: :33 < *ac also reminds him that she isn't his mother*  
GB: might as well be  
GB: you named me after all  
GB: call me more ok  
GB: text me tons  
AC: I will  
AC: I mean  
AC: :33 < *ac nods and says she will*  
AC: :33 < *ac leans dave back and hugs him close*  
GB: *rests again*   
GB: only for you mom  
GB: i will only do this for you  
AC: :33 < *ac asks about his name because gatedboy doesn't sound very furrrrn. fun. purrrr.*  
GB: been thinking about changing it  
GB: gardenboy, galacticboy, something like that  
AC: :33 < *ac suggests he use something that doesn't have "boy" in it*  
GB: like what  
AC: :33 < *ac isn't sure, but she suggests godhead anyway, or something of the licks*  
GB: oh gog  
GB: god*  
GB: they told you  
AC: of coarse(-fur)  
GB: fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk  
AC: :33 < *ac consoles him, saying that it's ok and she still loves him*  
GB: not the point here mom

godHead [GH] has changed his mood to SMOOTH [](http://s1168.photobucket.com/albums/r495/JiraiyaWhitney/?action=view&current=8c007212.jpg)

GH: that good?  
AC: :33 < *ac nods*  
GH: please never say anything like that again  
AC: :33 < *ac nods again, giggling behind her paws at his uncomfortableness*  
GH: you are so weird  
AC: :33 < *ac licks the side of dave's face in her way of expressing her love*  
GH: *wipes spit from face, glares, and walks away, muttering about mothers and keeping their tongues to themselves*  
AC: :3   
AC: oh no not meow  
AC: gotta go  
AC: another panic attack  
GH: go

arsenicCatnip [AC] ceased pestering godHead [GH]

It takes everything Dave has not to slam his head on the desk.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kanaya hugs him briefly that Friday and says that so long as there is no alcohol, everyone will be allowed to go—her parents will even pick them up if they have to (by they won’t). He says that they do have it, but they don’t sell it. Even sixty-year-olds get carded. She says that’s fine and goes to talk Rose into being her date. He catches Karkat looking sadly at Terezi as she speaks with a boy in her class. He doesn’t push the subject. Dave doesn’t think he has to.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dave jerks awake, holding his stomach. He stumbles to his feet, awkwardly fumbling with the sheets. He barely opens the doora dn the one across the hall. His knees smart in pain as he vomits. His stomach clenches as he stands and flushes. It hurts, so he wraps his arm around it and looks around. He doesn’t remember where he is or how he got there, but he sort-of recognizes the place. It takes ten minutes and one more round of vomiting to remember what this place is. _Dirk’s house._

He exits the bathroom, using the wall to limp along. Dirk is seated on the futon, but all of the lights are off sans the blue-ish one his laptop casts as he types on PesterChum.

“Dirk?” His voice cracks atrociously and he winces at the sound of it. He _sounds_ three times as miserable as he feels. The older man jumps visibly and spins around. He types hurriedly into his laptop before he comes around, grabs a cup from the dish washer and fills it with water. Dave downs it greedily and gently takes down the second. “How did I get here?”

“You conked out in the bathroom at one of my gigs earlier. How do you think?”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Alcohol does that to you.”

“I’m sober. Or, I think I am. I didn’t drink anything last night.”

“What?”

“I don’t remember drinking alcohol. Karkat got all awkward, so I said I wouldn’t. Oh, fuck.” He leaves the glass spinning on its bottom, rushing to the bathroom. He feels Dirk’s hand on the back of his neck massaging the sides. He coughs at the end, spits, flushes and rests his forehead against the cold porcelain. Dirk tightens his hand massaging harder. He moans in the back of his throat and mutters a quiet thanks. “ _This_ is drugs,” he coughs as he finally lifts his head. “Someone drugged me. How did I look when you picked me up?”

“You were out cold, muttering oddly. Something about drivers Ed. Your pants were partly undone, but your belt was up. Why?”

“Making sure. Feels like I pulled one of my stitches.”

“How else do you feel?” 

“Mouth tastes disgustin’. Stomach aches, I feel like I can’t see anything and fuck my head. But I think I’ll live.”

“Here,” he says as he opens the medicine cabinet and pulls out a cardboard wrapped toothbrush. He opens it and hands it over along with a tube of toothpaste. Dave fumbles with it, his fingers no more than lead extenders, for a minute before he starts brushing. Dirk leaves.

He returns after using some Listerine, leaning almost completely on the wall. Everything around him spins, tilting the world on an awkward axis that would send him to his face if he didn’t. In the time it took to take care of his mouth, Dirk has shut his laptop and turned the light in the kitchen on. He follows it and finishes the water, bracing himself on the counter. “You can’t stand,” Dirk observes. Dave shrugs and goes to him. He lays his head on his chest and wraps his arms around his sides. Dirk isn’t much taller than him—he’s tall for his age and Dirk is a slight bit short for twenty-seven—so his forehead fits next to his neck, but he can still hear his heartbeat. It almost completely matches with the tic of the metronome in the back of Dave’s head and sets a rhythm for his breathing to follow (in as Dirk breathes out, out as Dirk breathes in, and his breath smells of gin and coke, but not much of it). Dirk is making awkward movements with his hands, as if he doesn’t understand the concept of a hug. At length, one hand rests on his shoulder and the other on his lower back.

“Thanks for finding me,” Dave mutters, the drugs, nausea and the quiet tic of a metronome unable to retell what happened earlier that night mixing together to make him vocalize it. He vows to never say that to Dirk again. The heartbeat in his ear grows louder as he shifts his head, making it pulse in pain on every other beat, but it’s worth the pain to be able to relax to it. He thinks that his knees have no way of supporting themselves without Dirk’s help. There’s a twinge in his back under where Dirk’s hand rests and he reaches back, lifting it some, leaving it to rest a little higher. “Usually, I wouldn’t mind, but I really do think I pulled a stitch. Give it a week and you can touch anywhere.”

“I’m not good with hugs,” he admits awkwardly. 

“Doin’ fine. Thanks for, you know, everythin’.” Well… there goes that vow. _It lasted a whole fucking long time_ , Dave thinks scornfully.

“Feel any better with the water?”

“A little.”

“What do you remember?”

It occurs to Dave that he is inflicting his voice at the end of his sentences, like a normal human being. He thinks that this is due mostly to their close proximity (he remembers when he was younger and would fight constantly—he couldn’t stand hugs back then, too paranoid that someone would stab him in the back) and the rather abrupt way Dave declared that Dirk no longer has his own personal bubble. He considers stepping back, but his knees are shaky, even as he uses Dirk’s to stay up.

“Not much. We got there at seven and ‘Rezi dragged me out to dance around seven-thirty. I got back, drank some fruity thing Kanaya shoved my way. It’s fuzzy from there. I remember dancing, eating some greasy-ass fries, puking some, dancing, but then some of the others had begun to leave and that’s at, like, nine but I don’t remember huge gaps. Everything’s in pieces. Next thing I remember, Karkat is sayin’ I don’t look too good. Told him I’d get home fine and went to the bathroom. I don’t remember entirely, but I remember washing my face prolly ten minutes after I walked in. Then I woke up here. This is so fuckin’ infuriating. I’ve never lost this much time before.”

“Do you think you’ll remember this in the morning?”

There is something in his voice, something soft, gentle, and it’s startling enough that Dave has to pull back to look him in his eye. It’s easier to see his pupils when the only block he has is a single pair of sunglasses (Dave suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable, naked—he even keeps them on when Matt is fucking him, he hates his eyes, they’re disgusting, but Dirk doesn’t look like he’s disgusted, only intrigued, and Dave’s stomach is making it insanely obvious that it doesn’t know if he’s relieved, scared, infuriated or, well, any combination thereof). “Maybe. Hopefully. I don’t know. Probably not. Why?”

“Here’s to hoping you won’t remember,” he whispers before leaning across the few inches that make the chasm between their lips. His hands fall to his hips and Dave catches his neck (it’s closer to his hands, since his lower back is against the cupboard and he doesn’t want to lift them—at least, this is what he tells himself when he realizes he’s being the girl in the kiss). He lifts himself to his toes as best as he can. He doesn’t need to do this to kiss him, but it gives him enough room to press up against him and makes Dirk tighten his grip. He forces his lips open with his tongue. It takes Dave everything he has (which isn’t much) so that he doesn’t moan.

They pull away at length. Dirk is the first to regain himself. “You’re fourteen.”

“Fifteen.”

“ _You’re still a kid._ ”

“Dirk,” he whispers, letting his lips ghost over his as he speaks. “I’ve done this since I was too young to know better and there is no one I would rather be kissing right now for any reason. So, since I probably won’t remember anyway, give this to me now.”

“Are you positive you won’t remember?”

“No. But I don’t feel like I will.” Dirk hesitates for a while before, at last, he leans down and kisses him again.

Dave wakes in the morning feeling slightly more lucid than the night before and significantly less sick. His knees can support themselves and he doesn’t have to fear earth’s sudden axis-twist knocking him on his ass. Dirk is making some sort of hangover medley in the kitchen. It’s eleven in the morning, there are ten missed calls on his phone and twelve texts. Dirk gives him a grunt and “do you remember anything from last night?”

“Not after eight.” He lies. He doubts that Dirk will know what to do if he says he does. “Thanks for finding me. I guess I did have alcohol after all, though I don’t remember what kind or anythin’.”

“Shit fucks you up, man.”

“Yeah….”

They eat in relative silence and Dirk tells him to call his mom back. He nods, having already decided he was going to do that, and he hits the speeddial.

“ _Oh dear Lord up above, Steven I swear to God-_ “

“Mom,” he stutters on the word and he thinks of Five’s sweet smile for a moment before he thinks of Marissa. “Mom, mom, mom, calm down, please, calm down, my head aches, let me explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m _so sorry_ ,” he starts out originally, wincing at the sound of the word falling from his lips. Dirk’s eyebrows quirk gently and he fights to keep himself from laughing as Dave flips him off. “Mom, please, please, understand, I didn’t mean to do this, I would never do this to you. I was taught better than that.” The mention of The House silences his mom enough for him to get across what he needs to. “I’m so sorry. We were really having a good time, I swear, no alcohol, nothing. Kaitlin was at the table, talking with her girlfriend—yes, mom, she’s gay… no I obviously won’t learn from her… since when do you act like a bigot? Ok, I won’t call you that again. Yes ma’am. Um, anyway, they were at the table when Theresa and I got back and, and she handed me my drink. I guess I thought I was safe because, y’know, they were there, but you still told me not to let it out of my sight and I did and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. Yes I’m fine. No, no I wasn’t. Yes I’m sure I wasn’t raped! Oh my God mom, seriously, I’m fine. Dirk— _Mr. Strider_ , whatever, no I won’t use that tone with you again… yes ma’am.... He found me and brought me to his house. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’ll be home soon, ok?” Dirk makes a motion like he wants to talk and he nods. “Hold on, he wants to say something to you.”

“Marissa?” Dirk says into the phone. He’s the picture of cool as Dave hides his face in the miniscule regions of his hands, pressing as hard as he can to fit into one of the wrinkles in his palm. He flips his middle finger at Dirk briefly when he chuckles at his appearance. “Yes, he’s fine. No, he wasn’t bleeding, he wasn’t hurt, he was just unconscious. It was probably just the drug that knocked him out. He’s not bruised as far as I looked. I’m not some sort of pervert, Marissa, I’m not going to check his pants. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I know he was raped but I didn’t even know the kid when that happened. Yes, I am one hundred percent positive about that. Dave is pretty hard to miss. He’s fine, Marissa. Honestly. I’ll drive him to your house soon. He looks worse than he is. You don’t want to see him like this. What the hell, Marissa, I’m obviously not doing that! I’m fuckin’—screw this, Marissa, he will be home soon. Got it? Good. Goodbye.”

Dave takes the phone back and says a hesitant “mom?”

“Be home soon. Dirk is a good man. He’ll take care of you.”

“Yeah, I know mom.” He thinks of how obstinate the man is against him and Matt, of how _he offered a bed in his own bachelor-pad-house_ , how he took him home last night, didn’t do anything, just laid him down in the bed. He also thinks of the kiss the night before, the way he wanted to protect him from himself because of his age, and the way that he didn’t push him. It was Dave that did the pushing. “I’ll be there soon. I’ll explain everything in more detail. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“It’s ok honey so long as you come home safe and sound.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye sweetie.”

He hangs the phone up and Dirk instructs him to go take a shower—towels are under the sink. He nods and goes, leaving him with his dishes to wash. He steals some of his shampoo (Axe, the good kind, not the kind that everyone overuses and overpowers with) and uses his bar soap to wash. He steps out, uses the same toothbrush he used earlier that day and attempts to do a somewhat decent job to his hair but gives up when it decides it wants to give him the hair-equivalent of the bird. He changes back into his clothes and comes out to finds his glasses and his two Balinsongs on the edge of the kitchen counter. Dirk is leaning over the sink with his knuckles white as they clench on it. He thinks it’s the only thing keeping him from breaking the window currently.

The couple across the way are arguing—the woman has her finger pointed at the man and is waving furiously, trying to keep him off of her. He’s trying to calm her down, but it doesn’t look to be working.

“She’s just paranoid,” he reasons. Dirk glances over his shoulder curtly, as if he doesn’t want to hear anyone’s voice right now. His eyes agree, but Dave continues on. He’s always the one that rubs the salt in the wound after it’s infected. What doesn’t kill you makes you a fucking idiot for letting it get that close to killing you, Dave always says. “She wants what’s good for me. She would be accusing her own husband of raping me if she thought I could be in any form of danger around him. It’s nothing against you personally.”

“Obviously,” he snaps back. There’s a level of cold to it that freezes his blood into place. He feels his Fight-or-Flight attempting to activate, but he locks his muscles, giving into neither the fight nor the run. He isn’t a coward, but he also isn’t stupid enough to challenge someone who teaches kids how to fight for a living without proper weaponry. He could do a lot of damage with two butterfly knives against a normal person, but Dirk is anything but normal and the sword could slice him before he even got close enough to get an important area. Surprisingly, Dirk doesn’t seem to notice. “But she still fuckin’ accused me after I saved your god damned ass.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

“Still.”

“Dirk.” He says his name somewhat softly, like one would a woman, and the man whirls around to glare at him face-to-face. The air is tense and the dark aura around him seems darker when he can see his face. Dave suddenly realizes why it affects him so much when he glances at his neck. There’s nothing there—no marking, no bruise, no evidence that they had kissed or even hugged the night before, but enough of it is showing that Dave could reach out, touch it, and completely cover it in one hand. Dirk wants to fuck him. Dirk wants to take him to bed. He wants to do the horizontal mambo, put his train in Dave’s tunnel, put his spoon in his pudding, put his key in the ignition, park his car in his garage, however the fuck it’s going to be said, but Dirk wants to lay him on his back and fuck him. Dave doesn’t know what to think of that, but his stomach knots in butterflies and he has to push the blush down. “Really. You need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. God damn it, I’m a fucking grown man, I could be in so much shit for just someone overhearing a single word of that conversation!”

“ _Dirk!_ ” The other man looks up and meets his eyes through the glasses. He does it with such ease that Dave would normally be put off-guard by it, but Dirk has a sense of naturalness to it—as if something would be wrong if he couldn’t. “Calm your tits, bro. Nothing I say right now may be able to do it for you, but god fuckin’ damn it, I know you wouldn’t fuckin’ rape me. You’re the one that’s gotten so far into my head about that shit that I haven’t been let Matt into my room for almost a month now. He’s fuckin’ pissed off! I ain’t easily scared, but he’s fuckin’ frightenin’! Ah don’t know what y’re thinkin’ ‘bout all this, but mah opinion is that she just wants to fuckin’ see me safe! She’s mah adoptive mother, but she might as well be blood! Dirk, you were the only one Roxy could fuckin’ go to after what her brother did t’huh and she’s _frigh’ened_ of men! Why the fuck would this be any differe’?”

Wait. Did Dave just friend-zone Dirk?

“Yeah,” he sighs. “You’re right. It just got to me. I don’t know why.”

Fuck. 

He did.

The drive in Dirk’s beat-up chevy truck is short (only five minutes) and he escorts him to the door like a proper date would. Marissa is pacing the living room, her nails have practically been chewed off and her fingers have gone through her hair so much that she looks like she hasn’t slept at all. He goes straight to her and hugs her. “You are _so grounded_ ,” she determines as she clings to him.

“Ok,” he agrees. “Shh, just calm down mom. I’m ok. I’m ok.”

“My baby,” she whispers as she kisses the top of his head. “Thank the Lord you’re fine. Thanks for taking care of him, Dirk.” By the time Dave looks back, Dirk is already gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually my favorite chapter thus far :D


	10. Chapter 10

Seattle was never Dave’s favorite place. Cold, wet and dark made wearing the coolkid clothes and sunglasses hard—impossible, really, but he does the latter anyway. It’s hard to get used to wet roads compared to the dry ones Houston holds (not that he drives, oh, no, no, no, he’s the _perfect little angel_ his mother adopted spitefully). However, he likes the green of the plants, the height of the forest and the pure mysterious air everything gives off. 

The House is old. It’s a cancerous, vile, odor-filled place that reeks of black mold and dry blood. The doors creak, the walls leak, the foundation is barely stable enough to support the house, let alone its occupants. The shadows creep, echoes of footsteps from the once-living occupants still sound, both completely overwhelming the entirety of the abode. The trees hang overgrown over the house and the dead grass and the flower-bed-that-never-was. Bullet wounds and sword stabs scar it, hiding the gut wrenching sight behind something even more. The people who live around it avoid it—they cross the street to walk the sidewalk, be that what has to be done. They don’t report the screams of anguish or the sound of people crying themselves to sleep at night. They don’t talk about the house, the Children or the Trolls that inhabit it.

Still. There is a fond smile on his face as he pulls his camera out and snaps a picture. He tucks the camera back into its bag and walks up the dead lot to the door. He opens the door—it’s never locked, the children know what will happen to them if they’re caught leaving, and no one wants to steal from a bunch of abused orphans. The door to the living room is open and he sees several down cast kids sitting in a circle. One of them sniffles and another gently pulls her into his arms, muttering “It’s ok, Dog.” It doesn’t take long for him to figure out that they’re the new Trolls.

He walks up to the circle and stands there, waiting for them to notice him. It only takes a few seconds (a handful of ticks in this timeless place) before Dog sniffles and looks up at him. “Yes sir?” She asks. “I-is there something I may help you with? Someone I can take you to?”

“No thanks, Dog,” he replies. “Just tell me where The Board is kept these days.”

“Th-The Board?” He nods. “I-I-It’s d-down that hall there.”

“Thanks, kid.” She nods and he turns around to leave the four of them alone. He hears them clumsily climb to their feet and follow him, but doesn’t ask them to stop. In fact, he would rather they follow him than anything else.

The Board is the cleanest thing in the house. The left hand side (that for the Children) is covered with pictures, new and old, of children who weren’t abused as harshly, who got regular meals and some form of love. He recognizes some from the time he was here, he recognizes some of the faces of kids who were adopted, and others he doesn’t, but he finds that they’re bullshit. They give hope to the Children, but the Trolls’ side of it is barren—it only makes life on the Trolls harder. Out of his bag, he pulls the pictures they had taken with their families and slowly pins one to the board. Aradia’s. Tavros’s. Sollux’s. Karkat’s. Kanaya’s. Terezi’s, where she’s holding her baby sister who looks so much like her that it’s bizarre and might as well be blood relations. Vriska’s, Equius’s, Gamzee’s, Eridan’s and Feferi’s. The last one he puts up is his own. 

“Who- who are you?” Dog asks.

He turns around and finds himself kneeling down in front of her. He puts his hands on her face, getting her to look him straight in the eye.

“I’m another Troll, just like you,” he answers. “But I was adopted. There were thirteen of us,” he adds. “Twelve of us were adopted. The last one was already older than you are now when we met, and I was born in this house. My not-brother, too, and we were both taken. Take the beatings, let them attack you, but do not break. Do not let them see you break. You will get through. Spend as much time as you can outside, out front. Fix this place up, make it shine, do whatever it takes because if people see you like you are now—bags of bones in skin and desperate like this—they will take pity on you. Trust me, a pity adoption is better than one out of spite. You are just as lovable, just as worthy as any of the Children here, if not more because of your past as a Troll. The one thing you cannot do is lose hope. It’s stupid, sounds cliché, dumb and retarded, but that’s what it takes. Trust me. It’s the hardest task of all.”

“What’s your name?” She asks, quietly. “What are theirs?”

“I’m Thirteen,” he replies and stands up. He points to each of them in turn and slowly counts them off, skipping number five. “If you have to, live your entire life here because the life afterward is worth it. It’s worth it. It’s tooth and bone and fighting and a dog eat dog world, but it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

She turns slowly and smiles up at him. Through the dirt and the grunge, she looks beautiful with it on. She doesn’t smile often. None of them ever did. “I’m Dog. That’s Cat, Rat and Duck. I’m so tired of living here. So tired. If… if we run away, will that do good?”

“I don’t know.” He replies. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Texas.”

“Why are you in Washington?”

“Visiting family.”

“Will fixing the yard really help that much?”

“Yes. Yes it will. And make sure you are caught doing it.”

“Ok, Th-Thirteen. Th-th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Remember what I said. Don’t lose hope.”

“Um…. There was this thing on The Board the other day,” she says quietly and pulls a piece of paper out of her overalls. “Y-You should have it.” He takes it slowly and opens it up. The heading is _SBurb Arena_ and the subheading says _“warning, you MAY die”_. He folds it up and shoves it into his camera bag, forgetting about it until later. “We thought it would be a good thing to go to after we run away, but I think it would be better with you. You deserve to have it. Thank you.”

“Live on, young Trolls,” he whispers and the others move in. He hugs them each in turn and leaves without another word. He sees them go outside almost immediately and they start tearing up the grass in short, portioned off areas. He sees the beatings to come, but he already sees the determination in their eyes. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_SBurb Arena – Warning: you may die.  
Welcome all combatants! Young and Old! Sick and Well! _

It’s an invitation to a fighting arena, where people fight to the death. Dave seethes when he sees the name of the Arena, but doesn’t understand why. It’s just how it is. And, when he sees that upwards of twenty people may be on a team, he hatches a plan.

After all, in The House, the only thing taught to Trolls is how to fight. Children, they get schooling—reading, writing, arithmetic. No, that’s all stuff Trolls fight to teach themselves. So, maybe, just maybe, they’ll join.

Five is still out of the fray, but he thinks that Equius can convince her easily enough to join them. Besides, everyone he knows loves fighting.

“Yo, Karkat.”

“The fuck do you want? You never fucking call me.”

“You near a computer? Man, you gotta look this shit up.”

“Gimme a moment…. Yeah, ok, man. What is it? I want to go back to sleep.”

“Go to SBurb—S-B-U-R-B—Arena dot com.”

“I’m there, now what?”

“Read that.”

He listens to the metronome as he waits for him to read. After only a few minutes, Karkat chuckles dryly. “Sounds fun. I’ll mention it to the others in a memo, talk more about it in the morning. Something that’s right up the Trolls’s alleyway, huh?”

“Totally down for that shit, bro.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Not until next year. Like, the summer after next _school year_. We got loads of time.”

“No one has weapons. It’s going to take time to get those.”

“True. Whatever man, I just want to sleep.”

“Sorry for wakin’ you. Not.”

“Go fuck your mother.”

“She’s your mom too.”

“Fuck off, Nepeta isn’t my mom.” 

Nepeta is a familiar name, but he can’t pinpoint where he knows it from. 

“Dude. Just sign us the fuck up.”

“Night.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kanaya is waiting outside his house when they return. He smiles and hugs her, kissing her cheek briefly. “How was your trip?” She asks.

“Fine.” He shrugs. “Went back to The House, talked to some Trolls, found that flyer.”

“That’s what I came to speak to you about.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re in. Even Five is.”

He smirks.

“It’s going to take some time to detail out how to make each of everything we need to fight, but we can do it. Start writing down what everyone wants to use as their specibus. Equius and I can figure it out from there.”

“Ok.” She kisses his cheek. “I just came by to tell you that. See ya later, big brother. John and I are going shopping for an anniversary gift for Rose.”

“Why not just make her something?”

“I have something special in mind.”

He nods and lets her go. She skips down the sidewalk.


	11. Chapter 11

He asks the engineering teacher if he can use his supplies to build some things at the start of the term. He nods, says that it’s open to him always—Zahhak, as well, but he’s not here right now. Dave thanks him and sits to begin sketching out what Dave is going to use to fight with during SBurb Arena.

Karkat has his dual scythes that he’s practicing with, so he doesn’t need anything to be made, but most of the others do. He starts with his weapon and begins sketching it out, drawing diagrams and scribbling equations. Zahhak is detoured from the class by the professor during third hour and made to help Dave. He points out that the metal they will need will have to be incredibly light, but durable, and he smirks at him as he points out that, no, it won’t be. Dave will be just fine with it being heavy weight. “What if someone picks it up before then? That’s illegal.”

“True,” he replies. “Maybe we should use some of that experimental stuff you’re attempting to make.”

“How do you know about that stuff?”

“It’s fuckin’ amazing. Let’s see if it works.”

Equius pauses, but nods. “This will take months to make and even more to make the others’ weapons. We may not have time to make everyone’s.”

“Not everyone needs weapons. Some have their own.”

“Not enough.”

“Let’s see if we can’t get mine to work first. We’ll figure out the timing for others after we have the metal perfected.”

“Deal.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Three months pass. Dave has worked his muscles until his muscles have hardened again, his hands ache most days, the area between his shoulders smarts when he doesn’t carry something heavy so he carries his textbooks in his hands and has Kanaya massage him as much as he can, but it isn’t often. He has, miraculously, kept Matt out of his bed, no doubt giving him a huge case of blue balls. He spends most weekends at Dirk’s or with Equius.

Three months of blood, sweat, tears, frustration, endless fights with Equius and spars with Karkat, but they manage to perfect the metal. They make Dave’s weapons—a new high-tech Balinsong-like weapon, knives in his shoes and they sharpen both the black knife and the red-and-grey one Karkat gave to him as a kid. He and Equius try the newer metal against the old one and find that, though lighter and less-worked, it lasts longer and slices better. 

They start with Aradia’s weapon. It takes six days to measure her hands, her ability to move, her flexibility, her arm length, her height and how well she fights both long range and short range—as well as calculate what they need to do to make it fit her style. The work is slow as they attempt to make it without wounding the weapon itself. It’s a short, curved sword that detaches at the hilt, connected via a chain to swing around. It breaks half way through the first training session and its back to the drawing board. This time, they make a bladed staff three-quarters her height whose blades break off into chains (stronger, this time) and expand to the length of a baseball field as she practices with it. She’s everywhere and nowhere at once. It’s like she has a thousand versions of herself as she fights. She asks that they counterweigh it in the middle of the main staff and they do, also adding to more chain sections to make it longer. She fights with it expertly.

They begin making Tavros’s next. The work is faster after weeks of manipulating the metal’s properties. They crank out his measurements in only three days and finish his dagger (Dave sniggers anytime Equius calls it by the proper name of _dirk_ so they begin calling it that). Tavros seems to enjoy fighting with it and the transformed version of the lance well-enough in theory but in actuality he can’t even bring himself to pierce the cotton-and-wood dummy Kanaya sews for him until Dave throws his knife at Gamzee and he falls down, a sticky redness coating the ground. After seeing what the lance did to the dummy, Dave swears to never be on that end of it again. Gamzee gets up, kisses Tavros’s temple, tosses the ruined Cherry Faygo bottle away, tells him he’s fine and returns Dave’s knife. Karkat vows to teach the kid how to harness that anger in a good way in the few months they have left. 

Sollux’s measurements are even quicker than Tavros’s, mostly because he wants to use dual pistols for the majority of it. He makes sure that Dave and Equius know that this is for—and only for—if he runs out of ammo. Dave computes the math, but Equius is the one that gets the leather, builds the handles and puts it together to make the dual whips. Sollux is, ironically, better with them than he is the guns and Dave catches him looking up (on Google) how to dye leather one day.

Nepeta (Five) asks for claw-like talons which she called "five-pronged Katars". Dave is busy while she is free so Equius takes most of the measurements and makes the diagram. Dave isn’t there when she tests them out, instead hurrying to get to his and Matt’s pre-graduation practice to walk across the stage. He hears of her pure beauty and the elegance with which she fought, but some of the knuckles break. Dave fixes them, reinforcing them carefully. This time, they don’t break, but they still have to add blades to it.

Kanaya wastes a week of their time trying to think of what to fight with. In this time, he and Matt walk across the stage, Dave declines three scholarships and gets a job at a music store, Dirk switches the students to the next level class, Karkat breaks his thumb and Jade finds a boyfriend in a student on the football team, gets punched and breaks up with him. It’s a hectic week, but Dave enjoys it—somewhat.

She admits that she wants a chainsaw. Dave takes her measurements and goes to Equius’s house to build it. They spend all of their time in his bedroom and use the entirety of a loose-leaf paper pack, half another and almost an entire ream of printer paper to diagram it before he’s invited to dinner and they scrap _everything_. They’re up until three that morning before they admit to themselves that the problem isn’t _making_ the chainsaw—it’s _hiding it_. Dave finds inspiration the day after when they go to a picnic with Rose, Jade and John. He asks Kanaya for her lipstick as they leave and she points out that it’s her favorite and not to lose it. He goes straight to Equius’s house. They are up until nine designing it before Dave leaves and they start building it the next day after work.

Kanaya giggles maniacally when it switches from her lipstick to the blade. She massacres the dummies and, when training with Eridan and Sollux where the gunshots can’t be heard, is fast enough to either get to the other before they shoot or block it with the main part of the saw. Dave takes it back, strengthens it and returns it to her. She calmly puts the lipstick on like it isn’t the weapon of a mass murderer.

Dave has the most fun designing Terezi’s weapon. She wants a shortsword of some kind but doesn’t care what, so he makes a red pimp cane, fits it with a dragon-head handle and sets the blade inside of the main body. When extracted, the sheath grows and acts as a shield. She kisses his cheek and asks about long-range attacks. He gives her this _look_ before he smirks, points to a hidden button on the cane and tells her to figure it out. 

Vriska smirks at him when he asks what kind of weapon she wants to use and gives him this look like she is saying “it took you fucking long enough”. She details out exactly what she wants. He gets a headache just listening to it and when Equius asks what she wants (in his own horse-bullshit related way), he just shoves the papers with his notes on it and shoves his head in the darkest corner of his sunglasses because, fuck, did his head hurt at the thought. Equius makes a similar face and they vow to not sleep until they get the diagrams and the computations down. Three days later, they let themselves pass out with success in their laps. They have to scrape every penny they have together to buy the hardware to program the computer chips and slowly start making the dice. They program a different attack to happen with each roll and Equius leaves to create a shield for defense. He hands the dice over to Vriska, who looks like she has seen a ghost as she admits that she didn’t think they could do it. They merely smirk back and sit back as they watch her practice. She asks if they want the dice back, but Dave shakes his head and settles against the tree. He wakes the next morning around three with Equius on one side, Terezi on the other and a blanket wrapped all around the three of them.

School starts and the hours that they can work on their weapons cuts almost in half. Dave goes to work full-time, spending more and more of his time in the music shop. He sees Dirk more oft than not purchasing anything from long-plays to short-plays, cassettes to CDs, whatever it is that catches his eye, as if it isn’t completely unusual to buy three of the four music recordings listed before. He makes good money, enough to scrape together and manage to buy his entire team’s entry-fee within only three paychecks. He spends most of his free time either sparring with Karkat (who is a million times better due to Dirk’s classes and the pure naturalness that he has towards those weird-ass scythes) or with Dirk, Jade, John and Rose. He still has yet to un-friend-zone Dirk. He doesn’t know how to go about that without outright apologizing for that, but to do that he would have to admit that he remembers that night. The others’ fall break comes and goes without another one being made, bringing them to the winter holiday before they really get anywhere far.

The discussion over Equius’s weapon eventually comes up. He shrugs his shoulders, says that he doesn’t know what he wants to fight with or even if he does want a weapon and starts to ask about Gamzee but Dave cuts him off, insisting that even if he uses FistKind, he has something for long-range. He shrugs, says he can be pretty good at archery when he’s calm and opts to use a bow before asking about what Gamzee wants. 

Gamzee just wants these things he calls “clubs”. They make them without any problem and have them done the same day he asks for them. Gamzee bludgeons the dummy mindlessly to the point where Dave is actually _glad_ Tavros isn’t here to see it. Gamzee smiles at them sleepily and says he’s going to go paint them so they look cool when he juggles them. Dave wonders if any other burly, black and stoned man could ever pull that off and quickly decides that, no, Gamzee is a special case.

Eridan already has his guns (plural, because he has four, one that he uses for close-quarters, one for medium-distance, one for long and another sniper). They move on to Feferi, who asks for a double-sided trident, subsequently naming her strife specibus 2X3DENTKind. They make that quickly, too, and give it to her within the first week of them returning to class. She loves it, spinning it around, fighting superbly, and when asked how she will fight long-distance she throws it as hard as she can, spins around and punches Dave (who she is technically sparring with) until she can lead him to the two-by-trident and rearm herself. It works superbly. 

This means they all have weapons five months before the start of the Arena. Dave and Equius bro-fist in triumph and each go to pass out in their respective beds. Dave wakes partway through the night, uncoordinated in his haze of sleep, to find Matt with his teeth sunk deep enough into his skin to pull blood. He tries to fight him off—it’s been over a year, somehow, and Dave knows a large part of it is because he left for college mid-July, but he came back for winter break, which is still another week longer for him—but finds that he can’t due to the lethargy. He shoves a fist in Dave’s mouth to keep him quiet, pins his arms under his own body and proceeds to have his way with him.

Dave feels dirty, used, when he finishes. He doesn’t even orgasm. Matt doesn’t seem to care, only adding angry bites to the repertoire on his chest. His breathing heaves and he clenches his eyes shut to keep the tears from building. Matt chuckles at it and leaves. When he opens them, he can barely make out the ceiling. He can’t roll over without hissing, but he forces himself to anyway, grabs his phone and opens it to text Dirk, or Sollux, or anyone, really, he doesn’t care, just someone who can help. He doesn’t have the courage to, though, and stares at the blank screen instead, a prisoner in his own body.

timeousTestified [TT]  began pestering godHead [GH]

He starts seeing this, but doesn’t immediately close out the chat. Instead, he curls in a ball and presses it to his chest, looking whenever he gets a message, typing his own and pressing it back. 

TT: You have not been around the dojo lately. Is something amiss?   
GH: nothings wrong  
GH: im just…  
GH: i was really busy thats all  
GH: ill be around more often no worries  
TT: I see….  
GH: swith the periods  
TT: Is something wrong?  
GH: why??  
TT: You aren’t avoiding my observation/questions. Seriously, though—is something wrong? Does it have to do with Matt? John? One of those weird-ass number-friends you and Keven seem to spend a lot of time with?   
GH: matt  
TT: What of him?  
GH: he came back from college for the winter break  
TT: Did he try something with you?  
GH: yeah  
GH: ill be fine  
GH: just gotta rest up a bit  
TT: Do you want to come over?  
GH: yes and no  
TT: Here I thought Rose was the master of vague answers.  
GH: funny ass  
GH: i just want to rest for a little while  
GH: i dont care where   
TT: How bad did you come out of it?  
GH: its been over a year dirk  
GH: take a guess  
TT: Would you like me to pick you up?  
GH: ….  
GH: yeah actually  
GH: thanks  
GH: just message me when you get here dont want to wake marissa or robert  
TT: I’ll be there soon. Get packed.  
GH: ok  
TT: <>  
GH: <>

Dave hadn’t realized how much he had missed that symbol until now. He whimpers as he climbs out of bed, grabs his bag, shoves a bunch of clothes into it, his laptop and a few other things. He figures he’ll go straight to work from there but he doesn’t know if he wants to come back here after that. He shoves a few more days’ worth of clothes in, changes into a pair of red sweats and grabs whatever bit of the ointment he had been given a year ago is left. He shoves that in his bag, too, and sneaks across the hall to grab his toothbrush and the paste to go with it. He narrowly remembers to grab his phone charger as he receives Dirk’s message.

TT: outside  
GH: ok

He exits silently and locks the door behind him before sliding in beside Dirk. He still has on a white shirt and some black pants, smells of booze and other people’s sweat. He figures that he just got back from a gig and doesn’t ask about it since the reek of sex doesn’t cling to him like it does to Dave. “Look like shit,” Dirk observes as he pulls out.

“Feel worse,” he replies and leans against him. He puts his temple on his shoulder, not minding it at all as Dirk moves his hand from the wheel to the other side of his body. He leans into the warmth the older man provides, shivering. He has never had a hard time keeping his warmth in him—then again, in Houston it’s not much needed. He doesn’t feel particularly cold, but Dirk’s warmth relaxes him, lets him feel somewhat safe in a strange, disgusting body.

Dirk doesn’t say anything in return, only tightens his hand on Dave’s arm and lets him lean against him. The drive is in silence and Dave thinks he nods off for a moment because he’s being shaken awake. He nods and slides out, with his bag, following him into the apartment. The elevator is fixed, for once, and they take it up. Dave doubts he would have made it up the steps anyway.

“Go shower,” Dirk instructs and he nods, leaving his bag on the table. He turns the water up as hot as it goes, burning Matt off of him, out of him, but it doesn’t work. He can still feel his slimy hands on his skin, his sharp fangs sink into his skin, the deep, dark tendrils of regret and self-doubt sinking into him. He has been fighting, building muscle for almost a year now but he can’t even fight off his own fucking brother off of him. How fucking useless is he?

He climbs out when the water cools and dries himself off. He finds less blood has been shed than he expected. He hesitantly slides back into his sweats and hides the bite marks with his shirt. 

“How injured are you?” Dirk asks as he steps out of the bathroom. He’s in a pair of grey sweats that hang low enough to expose the start of orange boxers. He is instructed to sit on the table, which he does, and he scraps his shirt. He keeps his eyes downcast as Dirk turns around to see it, but the older man doesn’t reply to the sight. He merely opens something in his hands, flicks his thumb in it and begins with the bite on his collarbone. Dirk has a long, thick, yellow-green bruise on his front that trails around a little over his shoulder with a red welt at the end. He wonders what could have possibly caused that. “Look up.”

He does so and finds that Dirk isn’t wearing his glasses. They’re settled on top of his head and he has beautiful, stunningly so, amber-orange eyes. There’s a scar under the corner of the left one, old, worn and colorless. His eyelashes are short, but they’re so blond that they’re nearly Dave’s color of white cotton fuzz. He has this tanned look to him, all over, and he pulls it off like he doesn’t realize how good he looks tanned. Dave slowly removes his glasses and sets them aside. Dirk nods his head. Dave keeps his eyes steady watching the way that those amber ones flicker over his skin, going from one bite to the other. “You ok everywhere else?”

“Yeah,” he whispers and nods. He waits for the ointment-or-whatever-it-is to dry before pulling his shirt on. Dirk shoos him off to bed and he nods, going to lie down. He doesn’t limp, though, and that’s something to be proud of, at least until he can get his wits back about him. He doesn’t sleep, either. He just curls around his pillow for a few hours, trying to sleep, but it doesn’t work. Around three in the morning, Dirk knocks lightly and he calls that it’s open. He walks in and sits on the edge of the bed.

“How are you holding up? All this after so long is a lot.”

“Can’t sleep,” he admits. “And the bites hurt, but I can handle everything.” Dirk rests his hand on his head, understanding something even he doesn’t know he was trying to say, and slips down a little more so that he is on his back. Dave leans up close to him, pressing his face to his arm until he lays it out over him. Dave scoots up his body, puts his temple on his shoulder and shuts his eyes. He leaves one hand on top of his chest, feeling the thrum of a heartbeat. This time, it matches the metronome in his head. “Why did you message me earlier?” He whispers.

“Felt like I needed to,” he shrugs. “Gut can be correct a lot.”

He moves his hand down his chest to rest on his abs. The muscles twitch under his touch before he slips his hand down the opposite side of his torso, pulls him close and holds him there. Dirk leans into him slightly, just enough so that he’s there and nothing more. The heartbeat lures Dave into a sense of security long enough to pull the sheet up over them. 

“Hey, Dirk?”

“What?”

“Th-thanks for, um, putting up with this.”

“Dave?”

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

He rolls a little more over him until their legs are gently wrapped around his closer one. Dirk’s hand rests on his hip. He doesn’t immediately fall asleep. Instead, he feels his eyes grow heavier and eventually shut. His breathing matches Dirk’s in opposite patterns. Dirk falls asleep before he does, but he is only half an hour behind by the time that he does fall asleep. 

He wakes, still in Dirk’s arms, but now the older man is rolled toward him and has him completely in his arms. Dave is as tall as he is now, but he feels small in his arms. He smiles at the feeling and nuzzles his way into his chest.

“Hmmnah? Dave?”

“G’back to sleep, Dirk.”

“Why are you so awake?”

“M’not.” Dirk groans in the back of his throat and pulls away. Dave pulls him closer and nuzzles back into him. “G’back t’sleep.”

“What are you doing Dave?”

“Sleeping.”

“Why so close?”

“Dirk?”

“Answer the question.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you’re fuckin’ friend-zoned or any of that bullshit.”

He doesn’t reply immediately. When he does, though, it’s in the form of a chuckle and hugging him close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you haven't figured it out yet, I do NOT have a beta, so if anyone notices something is wrong or something doesn't make sense *PLEASE* tell me somehow. Thank you so much!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this in my last Note, but I do *not* have a Beta. I'm also new to Present-Tense (I usually write in Past-Progressive), so I'm not going to be that person who sits there and thinks "X equals Y, so X must be mentioned prior to Q but more-so before Y is explained in detail" because I'm so focused on keeping everything in the correct tense. So, seriously, when you ask questions, THANK YOU. Don't feel embarrassed about it. I am honestly grateful to you. On that note, Chapter 1 has been edited to mention Dave's sunglasses. Thank you to webpixie and CannibalHolocaust for bringing that to my attention! Please ask more! I'm not perfect, but I strive to at least be 85% so (if you get that reference, I love you, you Skyward Sword-ers).

Dave wakes to the feel of something wet and hard dipping into the sensitive skin where his brother had left the bite marks. His head tips back almost instantly and he groans in the back of his throat without thinking of who could possibly be in his room, doing this to him. Regardless, it’s Dirk’s voice that mutters “don’t wake up, don’t wake up, don’t wake up” like some sort of prayer, ghosting along his skin. It comes in puffs and makes him shiver. He isn’t sure what he’s shivering over—because the breath on him feels good or because, really, it’s _Dirk_ doing this to him.

“Dave?”

“Don’t stop,” he whispers. The man over him locks up, like he realizes he has done something wrong, so this time he says it a little louder, brushing his thumb over an expanse of skin somewhere on his arm. He’s jerky, but he finally leans back down and licks a long line over the bruise. The moan that escapes him is a thousand times more sensual than he would ever admit to and he bites into his finger to keep silent as he stretches his neck longer, farther, arching it out. Dirk travels up it, mouthing and licking, travelling the long expanse of his neck. He gasps as it flits over his Adam’s Apple, biting harder to keep from moaning. His tongue plays with the dip behind his ear and he nearly moans again, breathing erratically. His teeth catch his ear and he nibbles, pulling a sound out of the back of his throat.

“Is your ear bruised too?”

“Weak point,” he admits quietly, his hand falling away from his mouth so he can splay the fingers on his back. “Very weak point.”

“So then Matt exploits it.”

“Fuck no,” he chuckles lightly, breathlessly, “you’re the only one to ever f-find it.”

He chuckles lightly and sucks it between his lips. He holds Dirk’s body to him, enjoying for probably the first time in too many years as someone works him over. “Fuck, if this is how you sound in bed, I don’t blame Matt.”

“Trust me,” he replies, “this is nothing like how I sound with him. Now, stop fucking mentioning him. It’s a bit of a huge fucking turn off.”

“So this is turning you on.”

“Seriously Dirk. Aren’t Striders fucking astute about every god damn subject.”

“Yes.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you realize that I don’t want to talk about that bullcrap. I’d rather have you in my bed, but I’ll compromise for a lot of foreplay if you pull what you pulled last night again.”

He’s silent before a pair of teeth sink into the skin of his neck, swiping over the sweet spot behind his ear. Dirk does pull what he pulled the night before and Dave pointedly stops him before he goes for work, pulls him down and kisses his lips. He tells him that he works the afternoon shift that day, not to expect him back until late to get his stuff and that he was going to lay around and see if he can’t start getting healed. Dirk nods and Dave kisses him again before walking into the back of the hall.

That’s pretty much when he figures it out. Dirk has been gone for all of half an hour when he goes to see if he really is as messy as the rest of the house when he opens the only other door in the hallway.

He likes the basic layout of the linen closet, but seriously, what the fuck is going on here. He checks the attic crawlspace , only to find that it’s void of a bedroom. Which only leaves one answer: Dirk sleeps in the living room, on that shitty futon. He does the first thing that comes to mind.

godHead [GH] began pestering timeousTestified [TT]

GH: we need to talk  
TT: What appears to be the matter?  
GH: not now  
GH: later  
GH: in person  
TT: …ok?  
TT: <>  
GH: <>

godHead [GH] ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]

TT: That was weird, you know.   
TT: randomly saying that

timeousTestified [TT] ceased pestering godHead [GH]

He finds that he is too bored to do anything but than to mess with Dirk’s sound system. There’s a laptop hooked up to it, and he starts when it turns on and immediately lights up a current project labeled _D17_. He shrugs, opens another new project and puts the headphones on his head. He plays around for a while before he decides that what he has is shitty enough to warrant him restarting. This time, he actually tries, learning as much of the DJ effects as he can without utterly messing it up—which he does. He exits it out without saving it and plays some of his completed works, rocking out to them. He figures that it’s pretty good, actually, he’s impressed, and he wishes that he could do that very same thing. He takes note of the name of the workspace before he resets it to where it was before. 

He gets ready and goes to work, throwing himself into it. His mom drops by after work and he tells her that he’s probably going to hang with a friend for a few days. She asks why and he says that he has to come in pretty early and he doesn’t think that he can wake any earlier than what he does, so the only compromise is that he temporarily live closer. She nods, threatens to kiss his forehead if he’s not back within the week and leaves with a new CD she has been listening to the singles of on the radio. 

He doesn’t remember much else of the work day outside of that. It was the usual slow-day (it’s not a store with a lot of customers due to some huge iTunes bullshit, but what customers they do get are loyal, or his parents, so they come and go and he already knows most of their names and their preferences in music, except for Dirk, who’ll take pretty much anything).

He returns back to Dirk’s apartment, having completely forgot about the linen cupboard, and toes off his shoes at the door, placing them next to Dirk’s in a haphazard mess.

“How’s your chest?” He asks almost immediately. Dave shrugs and walks into the kitchen to find him standing over the stove, poking at something in a pot.

“Stir fry,” he answers almost immediately.

“Oh ok. And the chest is fine, just sore.”

Dirk makes a noise in the back of his throat as he agrees and tries to stretch his spine. “What is it that you want to talk about?”

“How large is this apartment? Square-footage-wise.”

“Why?”

“Well, this is a one room apartment.”

“So?”

“So why did you offer me a bed to use—hell, give me a bed to use—in the only bedroom you have here? I don’t want to kick you out of your bedroom, man. That’s horrible.”

“What? No. I don’t use that shit. That bed gives me back problems. Seriously. Don’t give me that look, brat.”

“Look? What look? There was never any look here. But seriously, don’t make up shit.”

“In all honesty, I probably used that room once since I moved in here six years ago, not including last night. It’s just a storage closet really.”

“Yeah-huh bullshit. That bed is fuckin’ fine.”

“Slept on floors a lot as a kid, so I got used to hard surfaces like my futon. That bed is too fuckin’ soft for me. It makes my back all tense and I don’t like it, so it pretty much is a guest room.”

“Ah-huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Marissa called.”

“Yeah?”

“She said that she wants me to keep an eye on you.”

“What for?”

“She knows we’re friends and, evidently, you don’t know the next time you’re going back home.”

“What’d you say?”

“We’d see.”

Dave tries to tell himself that he cares as much as he doesn't that Dirk would be able to brush off and give the _only_ bed in his house to him without a single thought, but he really doesn't. He knows the only reason he drops the conversation is because he wants to feel that level of welcome and want from someone not after _only_ his pants, but from someone who generally cares about him as much as they do themselves (given that they care about themselves, which is a must if he is dating them). He tells himself that he drops if because he is saving the opportunity to question Dirk about it for a later time, when he isn't expecting it, to get better answers--and that is his excuse if it is inquired about. He hopes it isn't so that the only people that he is lying to is himself. 

He smirks and nods, motions to the pot with his head. “Will you be able to leave that for a few minutes?”

“Yeah.”

“Go lay on your front on the futon. Watching you do that is fucking annoying.”

“Why?” 

“I’m going to reset the part that’s bothering you.”

“I’d rather have a licensed chiropractic fuck with my bones, thanks.”

“C’mon, you little shit. I slept on moldy concrete for ten years of my life. I practiced enough on three year olds to do it on a fucking twenty-nine year old. You going to go or not?”

“Concrete doesn’t get moldy.”

“It did at the orphanage.”

There’s a long, silent moment where Dirk is doing nothing more than staring at him before he asks, quietly, “You were adopted?”

“Yeah, so? So were the rest of ‘those number friends’ you mentioned in your message last night. Keven, too. C’mon, let me realign your spine, this is fucking annoying to watch. And it’s not like I look a whole fucking lot like Marissa or Robert.”

“You’re albino, it doesn’t matter where your genes come from. You look like you.”

“Just go fucking _lay down_.”

“Why are you so adamant on doing this?”

“Because otherwise I’m going to shank you. Hard. In the gut. Just go lay on your front.”

“You won’t shank me.”

“Don’t test me.”

“Fine, fine. Look, see, I’m walking over to the futon. I’m now laying on the futon.”

“Smart ass,” he chuckles as he walks over and pushes the back of his shirt up until it hooks on the top of his shoulders. “Ok, stay there.”

“Just hurry up.”

Dave trails his thumbs down the center of his spine. He watches the muscles in his back twitch in pain as he goes before pushing as hard as he can. Dirk hisses and lets out a strangled moan as he finds the spot that has been bothering him all day. He presses his knee to the base of his spine and carefully pulls at the muscle, working the (fucking huge) knot free, all the while trying to be careful of the welt on the back of his shoulder. With the way the rest of the bruise curves over his shoulder and across his chest, Dave suspects it to be from a whip, but he doesn’t know who could give him the bruise since, really, honestly, who the fuck in his sword fighting classes has a whip? He plants his knee a little harder and pushes his shoulders so that his spine is pushed up and carefully straightens it. It pops and Dirk’s breathing stutters before he groans lightly. “Thanks.”

“Yeahhuh.”

He slides off of him and Dirk rolls onto his back. He has his eyes pressed shut behind the glasses and he just looks overall relaxed. Dave leans against the other arm and smiles to himself as he realizes that he caused this.

“Why did you sleep on the floor as a kid?”

“Ran away when I was younger than you are now,” he explains. “When I was thirteen. Before that, it was punishment. After that, I couldn’t afford to really do anything else. Why did you sleep on the floor?”

“All Trolls did,” he shrugs. Dirk gives a pure blank look of confusion, as if he doesn’t understand how this could possibly be relevant. “Trolls are kids who-“

“I know what Trolls are,” he replies. “I lived in an orphanage up in Seattle until I was ten, kid. Troll is one of the first words I learned. I just don’t get how that’s relevant.”

“I was a Troll,” he explains. “All thirteen of us were.”

“What’s wrong with you so that they thought no one would adopt you? I mean, I understand Keven’s anger issues, but you’re not like that so far as I can tell.”

“My albinism,” he shrugs. “No one exactly goes to an orphanage to adopt some kid who can’t even get a fucking tan.”

Dirk smirks lightly and takes him by the wrist, pulling him down. He leaves him to lay on the futon as he goes to the kitchen. The smell of cooking beef meets him for a moment before the fridge opens and Dirk returns, placing a cold bottle of apple juice on his forehead. Dave sits up and cracks it open taking a drink. He offers one to Dirk, which he takes before handing it back. “About this morning-“

“Don’t even start.”

“I was going to-“

“No.”

“Fine,” he shrugs. “Don’t let me tell you about the hickey on your ear.”

He smirks and chuckles, shrugging. “My boss gave me shit for it.”

“Seriously?”

“I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“I don’t want to get you fired, bro.”

“Bro, please. I’m the best thing that happened to this shop. Anyway,” he sits up and faces the back of the futon, folding his arms to sit in the space between his open legs again. Dirk chuckles as he takes up the childish position and he smiles ironically. “This orphanage. What was it called?”

“The Gerthald House of Third Street.”

“Really?” He perks up, straightening his back. He nods briefly. “When did you run away? Day and month.”

“November Twenty-Ninth.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

“I was put into that orphanage exactly five days later.”

“Weird.”

“Were you a Troll?”

“I might as well have been. My best friend growing up was one. She was called Cat for a while, but she was called Five for a while, too.”

He stares at him blankly for a long time, only to replace it with a warm smile. “Your best friend is the woman I call ‘mom’ then?”

“She is?”

“Yeah.”

“Creepy.”

“Not really. I think it’s cool.”

“But she’s ten years your senior.”

“And the only one that would take care of two babies since Her Empress The Bitch wouldn’t.”

“Two?”

“Keven. I’m a few months older, but that’s how it worked out in the end.”

“Weird. Anyway, dinner’s almost ready. How was work?”

“Fine, I guess. Nothing interesting happened really. You?”

“Keven beat the shit out of his spar partner, but that’s the only thing interesting, even for it being completely normal.”

“That’s Keven for you.”

“I swear to God, that kid is training with someone else outside of my class. He uses stances that I never taught because, really, it’s too dangerous for kids to use. The whole point of it is to leave yourself open on the hopes that you’re quick enough to attack first. Kid doesn’t know the difference between fucking offense and defense. Not that you know how dangerous that is. You just use those fucking Balinsongs.”

“Hey,” he smirks, “it’s not my fault I don’t have to _completely_ over-compensate with a God damn sword, unlike one of us.”

“You little shit,” he laughs as he jumps over the back of the futon. Dave expertly rolls out of the way, landing on the floor. Dirk fixes the evasion immediately and they roll around on the floor for a while, ending only when Dirk manages to get Dave on his back and pull his bruised ear into his mouth. Dave immediately freezes up, his eyes shutting as his hands splay over his front. He silences a moan as Dirk continues down his neck, mouthing at the skin before he nips a single time. “What was that about over-compensating?”

“I still say you do,” he shrugs, but smirks lightly as he sits up. Dirk leans back as he does, letting him. “Just because you know one of my weak spots doesn’t mean you’re any smaller.” Dirk punches the back of his head rather violently, but he takes it in stride and pretends like he doesn’t kiss his jaw as he stands to grab his apple juice.

Dirk goes to check on the stir fry and declares that it’s ready before dishing it up for both of them and sitting down at the table. Dave takes the other chair and takes a bite before determining that it’s better than it looks and eating the rest of it. 

“What the hell are we doing?” Dirk asks at last.

“Eating, last I checked.”

“No, _we_ ,” he answers back, shaking his head. “This—whatever it is. This morning and just now. What are we doing?”

He shrugs, thinking it over slowly before he answers, “do we really need a word for it? I mean, we’re having fun doing it. Or, at least, I am. “

“I was licking at the marks Matt left you with because I was jealous that he could leave marks on your body relatively without a fight.”

“There was a huge fucking fight,” he replies, “that’s why some of them were bloody last night. That mark on my ear—you know, that hickey. Several things to go on that list of firsts. First hickey, first time anyone’s really done that to me, first time someone has found that weak point, first time anyone has ever been jealous over these fuckin’ marks and it’s also the first time I’ve ever willingly let myself be marked damn it.”

“You’re half my age and still a minor.”

“I am more than half your age, idiot, and old enough to give consent.”

“You’re still a minor.”

“Dude. You grew up in the same place I did. I might as well be a grown fucking adult from just that experience.”

Dirk shrugs his shoulders. “The law won’t care either way. You’re still a minor and I’m still twelve years your senior. They’ll think I seduced you and forced you to have a relationship with me.” 

“That’s because cops are fucking morons.”

Dirk pauses and gives him a long look across the table. “You’re not denying being in a relationship with me.”

“Why the fuck would I?”

“Any of the reasons I’ve already listed and several more.”

“Oh, of course. Your house is filled with a bunch of weird-ass random smuppets and you’re a horrible DJ. Obviously, you’re not on my level, so I can’t possibly date you. Don’t even consider it.” He gives him back a blank look of pure sarcasm and irony before Dirk shakes his head, chuckling.

“You are fucking weird, kid.”

“Stop calling me a kid. You’re not helping the argument.”

“What argument?”

“The one you obviously want me to win.”

“What?”

Dave sighs as he stands up and makes it look like it’s a huge deal as he walks across the length of the table, leans down over him, takes his face in his hands and kisses him. They kiss like it’s what they were born to do, working their lips together like a well-oiled machine. Dirk scoots his chair out after a moment and fixes him in his lap. Dave tilts their heads and flicks his tongue across Dirk’s lips. The older man opens his and pushes into him, twining their tongues together. Dave flits his tongue over the top of his mouth, down the center of his tongue, all over, until he finds _that spot_ that makes him let out a quiet sound, no more than a vibration. It’s enough for Dave, though, because he keeps pressing into it, savoring the sound. Dirk’s hands slip up his back, pressing him closer until one rests between his shoulders and the other on the back of his head. Dave pulls away briefly and takes off his glasses (because the clacking is really distracting and really fucking annoying) before returning. Dirk’s tongue finds a spot and fiddles with it as he hums.

They pull away, each flushed a deep red, breathing somewhat erratically and with small, dopey little smiles they will never admit to having or seeing because this is the kind of scene that you want to be selfish with. Dave puts the glasses back on and smirks. “Obviously, the argument that ends with us doing that a lot more from now on.”

“You’re still a minor.”

“Oh my fucking God; don’t fucking tell me that you didn’t enjoy that.”

Dirk scans his face for a moment before he takes Dave’s lower lip between his. Dave leans closer, letting him for now. “We can’t tell anyone about this for two years.”

“So?”

“Are you ready to do that? The best thing with relationships is to scatter it around. This means none of that public shit most kids your age like.”

“That public shit is bull,” he replies. “Disgustin’. Bedroom stays in the bedroom, not on the god damn street. I don’t need you to fucking hold my hand or any of that bullshit.”

“Good, we agree on that then.”

He smirks briefly before he pecks his lips. “I’m going to finish eating now.”

“Ok.”

“That means you have to let go of me so I can get out.” He chuckles and sighs before he pulls away. Dave slips off his lap and returns to his meal, eating. They have a general conversation where Dirk is mostly muttering about Keven and his horrible use of incorrect stances that he would never teach him, they’re so horrible, he only ever uses them in serious fights, ones where he knows he can win but wants to play with him.

( Dave wants to pretend like he doesn’t know what he is talking about, but he knows Keven’s stance because he is the one that taught it to him through their various sparring activities. More than that, though, he sees the stance in his mind and he sees Dirk with his elbows up, his sword across the chest, in a stance Dave has never seen him make before, but really, he’s never seen Dirk fight, of course he hasn’t, but he’s watching through someone else’s eyes. He’s watching through someone else’s eyes as a black dog with wings appears before them. He unsheathes his own sword, but it’s orange and Dave has to violently shake his head to cast the image away, even as it appears over and over again and even as he watches himself—orange, uncertain on his feet and with wings, what the fuck is wrong with him, is this some sort of weird-ass dream?—take that same stance defending someone at his back who is bleeding extensively, laying on the ground, and looks a little too much like John for him to know that it’s him, but how? And what the fuck is he wearing? A green ghostbuster's suit? Who the fuck wears that? What the hell is he talking about? This never fucking happened. He’s going crazy, that’s all.)

They sit on the futon and watch trashy TV shows. They manage a whole five minutes of Jersey Shore before they’re talking through it, trashing the entire thing, even manage to make a sly comment about how the Catholic Church should reconsider abortions because of Snooki’s pregnancy. Eventually, Dirk gets up and turns the Xbox on, flicks it over to the MOVIES section and opens Netflix. They flip through for a while before deciding on a movie, turning all the lights out and settling in with some popcorn and soda like it’s their own little movie theatre. They crack humorless jokes and laugh at each other more than the movie, but during the romantic scene (which obviously is _not_ supposed to be in a shitty-ass zombie movie like this), they still fall quiet, leaned against each other and even managed a quiet kiss as the slow piano kept up and it panned over the forest. Dirk wrapped his arm around him afterward and Dave pretends like he doesn’t smile gently, but he does—they both do.

They flip on somewhat-acceptable late night television and spend more time relaxing against each other than they do watching TV. They don’t say anything or crack meaningless jokes and instead morph their humor to fit the show host’s, but they don’t need to say anything. They don’t need words. Dave eventually falls asleep against his side and Dirk shifts around, lying him down. He takes off his shirt and puts the ointment on his bites before he forgets and lets it dry as he goes to grab a blanket that could fit over both of them instead of the small one he usually uses. He takes off both of their glasses, takes off his own shirt and strips both of them down to their boxers before sliding in behind him and lying down. He pulls the blanket up and leaves his arm over his waist, pressing his lips to the top of his head. He sets the sleep alarm on the television in case he falls asleep first and falls asleep wondering whether or not he is the more mature one out of the two of them.

He also wonders, briefly, what his older brother would think of this until he realizes that he doesn’t _have_ any siblings.

_You have to learn how to keep the lives separate man._


	13. Chapter 13

Dave wakes for the second morning in a row with someone obscenely close to him. He smiles as he rolls over to see Dirk sleeping soundly. Somehow, both of them fit on the futon and he even manages to lie on his back briefly without fear of falling off. Dirk’s legs are spread slightly so one leg is behind the other. It takes a few moments to realize that the third and fourth legs are his own, despite them being as ghost white and pale as always. There’s a warm arm around his waist, holding him in place, and his pillow is Dirk’s arm. The other man's face has a serene quality to it, something he doubts that Dirk rarely ever gets to feel judging by the echoes of other emotions in the wrinkles around his eyes. His lips are turned up gently and he keeps muttering stupidly in his sleep. He kisses his chest right in the center and begrudgingly gets up. 

He leaves the blanket down and turns the TV on, flicks on the news for the background noise but turns it down so that it won’t wake Dirk. He goes to the kitchen, searches the cabinets and finds some pancake batter and sausage links in the fridge. He sets up the stove and starts cooking. 

Dirk grumbles and rolls over as he rubs his arm. Dirk looks up at him through bleary eyes and Dave smiles gently—yet another thing that shall never be admitted to be it he is asked about it. Dirk smiles back and sits up, asking what time it is. Nine-thirty-two. “Fuck, wow, I slept in.” 

“Breakfast is ready, c’mon.” 

It takes a while for him to process in his sleep addled mind, but finally his eyebrows pinch together and he says “you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Felt like it,” he shrugs. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “and you’re always cooking for me when I come over. I figured that since I was up first, I could make it. C’mon.” He motions to the table, where he has two plates set up with syrup and butter laid out. Dirk kisses his forehead and sits down at the table. He sets himself up and starts eating. “How did you sleep?” 

“Fine, you?” 

“Fine.” He shrugs and they eat in relative silence before Dirk goes straight to shower, muttering about sleeping in too late and classes and possibly making it so that he won’t make it on time. By the time he climbs out, his hair is half dried, he has his shirt on haphazardly, he’s bouncing on one foot as he tries to pull his other sock on. He leaves in a hurry and Dave smiles after him as he turns and finishes washing the dishes. The door opens again and he turns to ask if he forgot something. Dirk nods, comes over and kisses him, thanking him for breakfast. Dave chuckles and pushes him to the door, saying that he can’t be late because of him. Dirk kisses him again and says that it would be worth it before leaving. Dave is left blushing horrendously and feeling incredibly too happy in his footsteps. He bites his lip and shakes his head as he waits to make sure he’s gone and goes to mess around on the turntables again. 

_D17_ has been added to, he notices, but he still refuses to listen to it, instead insisting on something already complete. He messes around, creates something that he can sort-of be proud of and figures out what the buttons and slides on the turntables are, how to use the stand-in record as spinner to select the songs and scratch the audio, so on so forth. He even finds a walkthrough with how to record something off of an LP and an SP using them. He downloads the software onto his laptop while he has time and struggles to find it in his updated version. He manages to record a few of Dirk’s LPs and SPs onto his laptop to listen to and play with later. 

He starts getting ready for work while the last is still recording. Nothing too interesting happens really. Matt pops in briefly and makes _huge, embarrassing references_ to the bites on his chest with his boss standing not far behind him. As soon as he leaves, Dave falls over the counter and hides his face in his hands, hoping to calm the blush before it comes. 

“He the guy that gave that to you?” His boss asks with a smirk on her lips as she points to his ear so long as he can straighten. She has long, black hair and one dark blue eye. Her left eye as a cataract over it, but she usually hides it behind either a contact or a pair of shades that has either one or neither lens popped out (something her daughter picked up on unintentionally). It changes on the day. Usually, she wears a cerulean dress with a belt at the waist. On the top of shoulder, around the collar, a white M is stenciled in, but the last prong is pointed out with an arrow on it like Vriska’s. 

“No,” he answers back. “That’s my brother. He’s just teasing me. Sorry you, um, had to hear that Mrs. Serket.” 

“Of course not, darling,” she giggles again and pats his shoulder. “And what did I tell you? Call me Aranea. Just because I’m your boss doesn’t mean that you have to be formal with me, even if you’re friends with my daughter—which is a God send by the way. Finally turning her away from that emo stuff. Anyway, I’m going to take my lunch break. Can you hold down the fort?” 

“Of course, uh, A-Aranea.” 

“Thank you.” She smiles and goes into the back to clock out for lunch. He returns to watching the counter. His dad comes in briefly to check up on him, tells him that Matt is going back to college tomorrow (Dave considers returning at just that, but decides against it—he said a week, a week it is, plus he really liked waking up with Dirk this morning). He nods and they talk so long as there are no customers. Vriska comes in at the end of the school day and yawns as she clocks in. 

“Hey,” she greets. 

“Yo.” 

“Mom do anything weird today?” 

“Nah, not really. Just keeps insiting that I call her Aranea.” 

“Then do that.” 

“It’s weird.” 

“Wimp.” 

He rolls his eyes at her, flips her off when no one is looking and returns to work. She laughs and catches him around the neck, digging her fingers into his head in a noogie. “Is this a hickey, David Winslow?” She teases as she finds in ear. 

“So?” 

“Who would give you a hickey? All the blow jobs you give would imply that you don’t let people work you over. At least, that’s what Eridan said after I pinned him down to get him to talk. Don’t give me that look, Terezi helped. The Scourge Sisters can’t work alone in their torment.” 

“I’m not blowing guys anymore Vriska. First off, who am I around where I can constantly do that? I work now, I don’t go to school.” 

“Wait, wait, wait, you don’t give head anymore? _Damn_ , Eridan will be so broken when he and Feferi finally break up. I don’t see what the hell that woman sees in him. It’s not like they’re that fucking able to withstand pain. I mean, come fucking on. She was Number One for a while there. If anything, you should be with Aradia if it’s some sort of fucking caste system. It’s ok, though. Equius and I are both damn high on that thing.” 

He rolls his eyes. “No. No I am not giving head anymore. Do you not have working ears?” 

“Why wouldn’t you give head anymore? The way Eridan described it, it would make someone, well, someone like me, think you’re in love with giving head.” 

“I have a boyfriend now, Vriska. I’m not going to give some random guy head when I can give him head and be twice as happy.” 

“Oh, you’re growing up.” She pinches his cheek and pulls, chuckling. She frowns when he doesn’t respond and does it harder and harder until Aranea tells her to stop. He smirks in triumph as she releases his now-red cheek. “So, who would date someone so worthless?” 

“Worthless?” 

“Yeah. I mean, you’re a pretty worthless Tramp, right? Who’s your Lady?” 

“My Lady happens to be a hot man.” 

“So? Who is it?” 

“Why do you care?” 

“This is like me not telling you that Equius and I are together.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“Well fuck. I thought I did.” 

“He’s just a rebound because Tavros went gay for Gamzee anyway.” 

“Yeah, so? We’re practically the same number anyway.” 

“The top of the list doesn’t determine who you date, Vriska. That’s, like, saying someone with green eyes can’t date someone with brown because brown are more normal or something. Or, like, some weird Alien society has something stupid about blood or color of it or some bullshit like that and only higher levels can date because lowers aren’t worthy of it or some bullcrap like that. Get what I’m sayin’? It’s ridiculous.” 

“Whatever. We’re the same number anyway. New customer, I’m all over her.” He nods and takes the stack of SPs that are going to go onto eBay as a last ditch effort to sell them. He finds one that he will probably buy if it doesn’t get sold, but continues alphabetizing them anyway. He opens up the store computer, keeping an eye on the register as he starts to open up the eBay list. 

The woman that Vriska went to talk to has golden blonde hair pulled back into a bun on the back of her head. She wears “sexy librarian” glasses and has the small nose and thick lips of one too. Her chin is pointed and her ears are small. Her skin is pale, like his—just like his, which he finds a secret comfort even though she’s obviously not albino. She wears a small dress—thin, form fitting, and has red flowers up the sides of the white cloth. She nods to whatever Vriska is saying, says something he supposes is “thank you” and walks over to him. Vriska catches his eye as she shrugs and goes to help someone else. 

“Excuse me?” She asks. Her golden blonde hair is dyed, he learns quickly, and her eyebrows are cotton-hair white. She also has blue contacts in, so her eyes look purple, but they must actually be red then. She is albino, he also notices as her skin gets closer. It’s almost a relief and a sin for him to notice. He reasons it will never anyway and stops caring. “That young lady there told me you’re Steven Winslow.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, refusing to answer. 

“Y-You go b-by David, c-correct?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“I- Is this true?” 

“Yes.” 

She smiles and opens her purse. Out of it, she pulls a pad of post-its and a pen. She writes something on it, folds it in half and hands it over. “I really need to talk to you, um… M-Mr. Wi-Winslow?” 

“Dave. Mr. Winslow is my father.” 

“Well, I need to talk to you. When you get off, please.” 

“Um… why?” 

She smiles, but it’s sad—forlorn—and he almost feels guilty for doing that to her, but he doesn’t understand why, so he doesn’t. He glances at the note to see her phone number and her name. _Jessica LaBeck_. Weird name. He shrugs, says that he’ll see what he can do, and she smiles, thanks him, and leaves. 

“What was that all about?” Vriska asks. 

“I have no idea.” He returns to eBay without any further prompting. She hums, shrugs, and goes to mess with some high school punks trying to find a CD. 

Dave decides to give her a shot and texts her after he gets off. He also adds a text to Dirk, says he might be back later than usual, and receives one back from him saying “ok”. He meets Jessica LaBeck at the park. She’s awkwardly picking at her nails, biting her lip, playing with her white-hair, whatever she can do to keep still. She has also removed her blue contacts, so her blood red eyes are visible. He takes a seat beside her on the bench, all-too conscious of where his knives are, especially the ones in his shoes and the one he made with Equius. 

“So, what is it you want to talk to me about?” 

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately. “You’re only sixteen. Legally, I’m supposed to wait five years to find you or two for you to find me, but I’m in town right now and I just found out you live here and- and I couldn’t risk not meeting you, ever. My, you really have grown up a lot.” 

“What are you talking about, lady?” 

She smiles gently up at him. She takes a deep breath, like what she’s about to say is too large to even think of, let alone say, and squares her shoulders. She can’t look him in the eye, but she at least looks at his chest. “I’m your biological mother, Dave.” 

He snorts dismissively and stands, turning to leave. “Funny lady. What the hell? That’s not just something you go right out and fuckin’ say to someone. Learn some God damn manners.” At that, he starts walking away. 

Her hand snaps out and catches him, though, pulling him back. He furrows his brow, his hand ready to grab his weapon because this seriously isn’t funny. “You were born December Third at eleven-eleven AM. You weighed six pounds, three ounces, had acute hypoxia which all signs cleared of in exactly six hours and twelve minutes. You were born almost completely hairless, very underweight for your weight of nine and three-quarters inches. You had jaundice for four months and thirteen days. You were given up to The Gerthald House of Third Street. You were born a month premature.” 

“What the fuck?” He snaps, yanking his arm back. “That’s fucking creepy lady. What the hell are you, some sort of fucking stalker? How the fuck do you know all of that about me?” 

“You have a birthmark on your tailbone and one on the bottom of your right foot shaped like some sort of record or a circular spiral with ten gear-like notches and a heart with a sword through it respectively.” He freezes, staring at her, unable to form the words to demand _how she knows that_ because even after all of these years, Matt doesn’t even know that (not that he cares to know that). “I sobbed for joy when I found that out because that’s _some_ melanin. That way, you can say you’re not completely albino. That way, you don’t have to go through what I did growing up, not all of it at least. That’s probably the only thing you got from your father.” 

“So… you’re… my mother?” 

She nods slowly and bites her lip as her eyebrow creases. He pulls out his phone and messages Dirk, tells him “strike that, very late” and sits down beside her. “You’re… my biological mom?” 

“Yes, Dave. I am.” 

He shifts around beside her, trying to find a comfortable spot and failing. He bites his lip briefly before he realizes that she’s doing that, too. “You’re… my mom?” 

“Yes, Dave.” 

“But I thought I’m not supposed to look for you until I’m eighteen and you for me until I’m twenty-one.” 

“I know, darling, but I’m in town now and here I learn that you are here. I had to meet you. I had to. What if we don’t get this chance later? What if we- we don’t want to meet each other two years from now or five or whatever? I- I couldn’t live with myself if we never met and I had this chance. So, so I have to take it, screw the law.” 

He smiles and chuckles. “I see where I get my attitude from then if that’s how you usually are.” He pulls one leg up and wraps his arms around it, needing a lifeline. He almost wishes that Dirk were here. He feels like he is still on a twenty-three-degree axis tilt but the rest of the earth is on a thirty-thousand degree tilt. Everything is out-of-wack. His head is spinning so hard that he feels like he is going to be sick. He thinks of that time after the club a year ago where he fell into Dirk’s arms because his knees couldn’t hold him up anymore and wishes that he could do that again. 

“So… how has your life been, Dave? Wow. I’m- I’m sitting here, t-talking to my son. Wow. And he even goes by the name I would have given him.” 

“Huh?” 

“I-If I had kept you… I would have named you David. I’ve always loved that name.” 

He smiles gently. “There’s this woman,” he explains. “She’s almost exactly ten years my senior and she lived at The House when I was left there. She goes by Nepeta now, but back then she was called Five. Technically, I wasn’t allowed to have a name for stupid reasons. Please don’t give me that look, wait. She took care of me and another baby while she could. She named us, even though we weren’t allowed to have them. I grew up calling her ‘mom’. I still call her that, but Marissa is nice and so is Robert. Those are my adoptive parents’ names.” 

“Is… there anyway I can thank Miss Nepeta?” 

“Um, yeah… I guess. Here, I’ll give you her number, but she denies that she’s my mom, so it might be rocky in the beginning.” He takes out his phone and opens her contact card. He copies it and sends it to Jessica. Her phone rings and she silences it, saving it for later. 

“Why weren’t you allowed to have a name?” 

“There’s these things called Trolls,” he mutters and drops his knee. This is something familiar to him, something he can talk about without falling on his ass. This is something he can handle. “They’re kids that the women that run that orphanage don’t think will be adopted. Basically, they’re the shit-pile of everyone, but they refuse to let us name ourselves or name us themselves on the slight chance that we do get adopted.” 

“Oh, Dave,” she whispers and there are tears in her eyes as she leans forward and takes him in her arms. They’re tight and constrict his breathing, brushing against the bite-marks almost painfully. He hugs her back, half confused, half unsure of what else to do. “I swear to you, I swear, if- if I had known that, I- I would never, never have left you there. I am so sorry, incredibly sorry.” 

“M-Mom? C-can I call you that?” 

“Yes, Dave. Please do.” 

“Mom, really. It’s ok. I met Robert and Marissa because of that. And they’re really nice and Matt, well, he’s a huge douche but I can handle that. It’s pretty funny. Oh, Matt is my brother.” 

“You really like your family?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Even though you had to go through being a Troll? Oh, my baby, if I had any idea, I swear-“ 

“I get it mom. I get it. And yeah, it was worth it. Really, it wasn’t even that bad.” 

“Are you sure? You’re not lying to make me feel better, are you?” 

“No, no mom I’m not,” he laughs and pulls away. Slowly, he takes his glasses and sets them on the top of his head. “I’m not lying at all. Honestly.” 

“Ok,” she pouts briefly before shaking her head and looking him in the eye. “Wow, you really do have my eyes.” 

“Yeah.” 

“They look beautiful on you, Dave.” He blushes and shakes his head, pushing her away from the subject with a lot of stuttering and a lot of muttering about embarrassing him. She giggles and takes his hands in hers, gently rubbing her thumbs over the palms, the backs, between the fingers, over the sensitive skin of his wrists. He lets her. “Tell me more about your family. What are they like?” 

“At first I didn’t really like them. I was eight when they first fostered me. They half did it to spite the orphanage and half did it because they were interested in adopting me, more to the latter than the former. I don’t really mind it though. My friends were adopted because of that—and they’re all adopted now, too. You know the girl that you were talking to earlier when we first, um, met? She was one of them. 

“Anyway, I was eight when the fostered me. I was still really quiet, rarely ever talked, but they did everything they could to get me to do that. I wasn’t really very well educated—I’m dyslexic but it’s not so bad anymore, so what I learned my friends or Nepeta had to teach me. They helped me though, especially Marissa since at the time she was a stay-at-home mom. She helped me get caught up with grade-level average, that sort of thing. She’s a Kindergarten teacher now so she knows the ropes. Um, I dunno, after I felt comfortable everything just clicked. Then I turned ten and Matt was looking through the foster paperwork and _fuck_ was Marissa pissed when she found out I didn’t have a name. She cried really hard when I insisted she name me, too. She pretty much hugged me and would not let me go. I didn’t even ask her to name me David, she just did it. Steven David Winslow.” 

“Oh, my baby, I can’t believe that you had to go through ten years of this. I’m sorry.” 

He smiles up at her and shakes his head. “It’s ok, mom. Really. I’m happy with my life. But, um…. Can you tell me something?” 

“What is it, honey?” 

“Why did you give me up?” 

She sighs and shakes her head. “You don’t really want to know.” 

“Yes, mom. I- I really, um, kind of do.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

She takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “First off, you have to understand, I was twelve when I had you. I couldn’t possibly take care of you and my parents were already angry enough as it was that I got pregnant and my grandparents couldn’t possibly support the both of us.” 

“Why were you having sex when you were twelve?” 

She lets out a deep breath and cradles his face in her hands. There’s a warm, metal band on his face and he pulls her hand away to see some sort of ring on her finger before she lets it rest on his face again. “I wasn’t having sex, darling. I had thought he was my friend, but he wasn’t. Not really.” 

“I’m… not following entirely.” 

“Ok.” She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “I had this friend growing up. Her name was Rosanne Dubois. She’s two years my senior, but even she couldn’t fight her brother off. She got pregnant with her brother’s child and ran away when her parents accused her of being a slut. I was left behind and her brother turned on me.” 

He presses his lips tight for a moment, unable to look her in the eye before he takes a deep breath. She has large tears in her eyes and some have already skittered down her cheeks, fogging her glasses. He reaches up and brushes them away. “Mom…?” 

“Ye-yes?” 

“I’m a rape-baby?” 

She lets out a small sob and pulls him close, settling him under her chin regardless of his glasses. He feels like he’s going to be sick. The world has stopped spinning, but it was too fast and he still has motion-sickness. It’s like he had spread his arms out and spun in circles as fast as he could but stopped on a dime and is forcing himself to keep from falling over in a messy heap. “No, darling. You’re my baby. Do… do you want to hear more?” 

“Well… where are you from? Like, from before that?” 

“New York.” 

“How did you wind up in Washington?” 

“My parents were pissed when they found out I was pregnant, so of course, in typical nineteen-seventies style”—he laughs at this and she smiles as he gets the joke—“they sent me to Washington to live with my grandparents. I swear to you, if I was even one year older, one year smarter, I would not having given you up, I swear.” She sobs gently and he pulls away, instead pulling her closer, cradling her in his chest as she does the one thing that he thinks would be acceptable for him to do. She clings to him, holding him as if she would die if she doesn’t. Her arms make the bites ache, but he puts up with it for now. 

“Mom?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you for giving me up.” 

She pulls away, sniffling, and he smiles as they meet eyes again. “What?” 

“I said ‘thank you’. I’ve met so many great people, experienced so many great things and I think that since you were twelve that was the best choice you could have done without getting an abortion. So thank you—for giving me up. For giving me that chance at life.” 

She sobs again, but he forces her to stare at him until she smiles and takes his face again, kissing his forehead. “I would never have an abortion. I love you, David. I knew I did the moment I first held you in my arms. Giving you up was the hardest thing I have—ever”—she sobs and sniffles—“done.” He wipes the tears from her face and holds her until she calms down. She sniffles again and pulls away, wiping at her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she giggles gently, forcing herself to be happy. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t cry.” 

“I’m serious mom. Thank you.” 

The silence is comfortable, even as they meet eyes again and smile. It takes her ten minutes to finally calm down, clear her throat and ask, “ok, ok. Do you have a woman in your life? Someone you’re interested in?” 

He flushes and hates how his eyes dart away. “Ah, a-actually, girls don’t exactly… interest me.” 

“Ok,” she shrugs and accepts it. Like nothing is wrong with it. Like she doesn’t care. Like something is normal with it. “So, do you have a man in your life?” 

He blinks several times before he blushes and smiles gently. “Barely, but, yeah.” 

“Barely?” 

“W-we just got together last night, technically.” 

“Oh? What’s his name? What’s he like?” 

“Dirk. He’s nice, I guess, and he’s really cool.” 

“Is he cute?” 

“Mom!” 

“Well?” 

“Yeah… he’s a little more than cute, but he’s pretty cool about everything.” 

“You sound like you really like him. How did you meet?” 

“Online.” 

“Dave, really, you shouldn’t be dating people you met online.” 

“No, no, it’s different. Really. He’s different.” 

“That’s what they all say. He’s different, he won’t do that, mom, seriously.” She lifts her voice, pretending to quote misunderstood teenagers. He has to admit, it’s pretty funny, so that’s why he laughs. 

“Mom, seriously! He is, really. I’ve known him in person for a year and a half now and, trust me, he’s liked me the entire time but he has been pushing away because of the age difference.” 

“How much older is he?” 

“That’s not the point here mom.” 

“David.” 

“Look seriously, it’s not the point.” 

“David.” 

“Mom.” 

“David, tell me how much older he is than you.” 

“He’s… your age.” 

“David!” 

“Mom,” he laughs again. “I swear to you here and now that if he tries something I’m not ready for, I will beat him shitless, ok? What happened to you won’t happen to me. Do we have a deal?” 

“Can you beat someone shitless?” 

“Mom. I have six knives on me right now.” Well, five, but one qualified for two in his book—three, really, if he stops it at the right time. 

“Ok. We have a deal. You have my number right? Did you save it?” 

“Yes.” 

“I want to talk to you more, ok? Text me a lot, everything, ok? Please?” 

He nods and smiles gently. “Ok. I noticed you’re married.” 

“What? Oh, no! I’m not married!” 

“But you have a ring.” 

“I’m _engaged_ , but not married. I, um, that’s a large part of why I wanted to meet you now too.” 

“Why?” 

“I want you to be at my wedding.” 

He blinks a few times. “Seriously?” 

“Yes.” 

“I… When is it?” 

“I don’t know yet,” she laughs. “I was thinking December Third, but then we actually got to meet so I don’t have to commemorate that date. So I have no idea.” 

He blushes and bites his lip before shaking his head, telling himself not to do that again. He knows he will. “I… I’ll think about it ok? Let’s get to know each other first.” 

“Ok,” she smiles and nods. “I’d like that.” She checks her watch and makes a surprised noise. “Oh, wow, it’s so late! Marissa must be worried! Let me drive you home.” 

“You don’t need to do that. I’m rooming with my friend right now. Just around the corner. I’ll walk you to your car.” 

“Don’t be crazy, David! At least let me drop you off outside of the building! I don’t want to risk you getting hurt.” 

“Mom. Remind me again which one of us has the knives.” She sighs and nods. He walks her to the car and waits for her to drive off before he puts his sunglasses back on. He hurries back to Dirk’s place, almost running, with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opens the door as soon as he gets there and kicks his shoes off. Dirk is messing around in the kitchen, so he just stays silent as he sits on the futon and pulls the blanket up. 

“Hey,” Dirk greets and he settles down beside him, looking him straight in the face. He returns it. “Something wrong?” 

“Not really. Just thinking.” 

He makes a noise and messes with something else before he walks out and sits beside him on the futon. “What’s botherin’ya?” 

“Nothin’ really.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m not. I’m just distracted really.” 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“It’s not that important. Just some stuff about Roxy.” 

“What about her?” 

“Did she change her last name to keep her brother from finding her?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And is Roxy a nickname?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’s her real name?” 

“Rosanne Dubois, why?” 

“No reason in particular. When you see her tomorrow, can you tell her that I would like to see her?” 

“Sure, I guess. What’s got your mind on Roxy?” 

“It’s not important.” He shrugs. “What’s for dinner?” 

“I was thinking Manwich.” 

He smiles and nods. Dirk leans forward and they kiss briefly. “What kept you behind?” 

“A woman. Not important.” 

“A woman?” 

“She’s obviously not important, Dirk.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“One? I’m gay. Two? She’s my biological mother, Dirk.” 

He arches one brow. “Right, any old random floozy on the street is your mom, kid. Of course.” 

“Dude. The shit she knows about me is obvious enough.” 

“What did she know that she couldn’t look up on The House’s website?” 

“Nothing, just something about my foot.” 

“Your foot.” 

“My foot.” 

“You going to tell me?” 

“Not unless you wrestle it from my cold, lifeless body.” 

He smirks and Dave suddenly feels the urge to run. He darts forward, under his arms, but Dirk catches him around the waist before he can get three steps away and knocks him to the floor. They roll around and wrestle until Dirk manages to pin him on his back with his knee and pulls his sock off. Dave wriggles his toes, trying to catch it before it falls off. He examines the bottom before turning it over to find the small birthmark on the top of his foot, settled right in front of his toes. “This birthmark is adorable,” he chuckles. 

“Fuck you. It’s not.” 

“I thought you were albino.” 

“I am.” 

“Birthmarks are a concentration of melanin in the skin during fetal development,” he remarks. Dave doubts that’s the whole picture, but he can’t find it in himself to care how they develop exactly. “Albinos have absolutely no melanin whatsoever.” 

“They’re the only spots on my body with melanin at all.” 

“Spots?” 

He squirms and pushes him away before he reaches back and pulls the edge of his shirt up. He pushes the back his pants to just under the edge of his underwear. Dirk’s thumb brushes over it for a second and Dave knows that his thumb is larger than it, able to obscure it in its entirety. He lets go of his pants in favor of hiding his face in his arms. 

“You can’t tell anyone, Dirk. I’m serious. They’re embarrassing and- and, I mean, Matt doesn’t even know about them.” 

“He doesn’t?” 

“No.” 

“How? It’s pretty obvious.” 

“Hands are usually in the way I guess. Or he’s just fucking oblivious. Have you started cooking yet?” 

“No, why?” 

He rolls over and pushes him back, settling in his lap. Dirk chuckles and wraps his arms around him, gently urging him closer. “How is she? The woman that insists she’s your mom.” 

“She’s younger than you,” he starts. “Had me when she was, like, twelve.” 

“Why is she having sex when she’s twelve?” 

“She wasn’t.” 

“Oh.” 

And that’s all there really is to say on the matter. 

Dave stays in Dirk’s arms and the other man holds him, rubbing his hands over his back and arm. Dave wraps one arm around his back, letting himself just relax in his boyfriend’s arms. Boyfriend—Dirk… he likes that. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Rose?” 

“No, I want to talk to Roxy.” 

“Ok.” 

\--------------------------------

“Hey Dave.” Roxy greets as he leaves work for his lunch break two days later. He nods his head at her briefly before they start walking to the small café not far away. They sit, order something to drink and eat (hers, surprisingly, without alcohol on the excuse that she has to go back to work afterward). “So, Dirk said you wanted to talk. What’s up?” 

“You were born with the name Rosanne Dubois, right?” 

“Y-Yes.... How do you know that name?” 

“That’s not important, Roxy. I’m… just making sure of something, that’s all.” 

“What’s this all about?” 

“Dirk… told me about Rose and your brother,” he admits quietly. “But don’t hold it against him! He was yelling at me about Matt, well, not yelling, but he might as well have been.” 

“O-Ok….” 

“Well…” He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “You only have one brother, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“But you had a friend named Jessica LaBeck, right?” 

“Yes, she was my best friend for a long time. Why?” 

His lips press into a thin line before he takes a deep breath. “Well….” 

“What is this all about, Dave?” 

“Jessica LaBeck is my biological mother,” he explains quietly, staring into the cup of water in his hands. He can feel her confused stare without seeing it at all. 

“So?” 

“My biological father is your brother, Roxy.” 

She looks like a fish out of water for a long moment before she flags down a waitress and says “maybe I will have a small whiskey.” 

He feels like he should feel guilty, but he doesn’t, even as she takes her first drink. 

“So, then, you’re my nephew.” 

“And you’re my aunt.” 

“And… how did you find this out?” 

“She was in town a couple days ago and we met. We talked. Simple as that.” 

“Ok. Then why did Dirk say you wanted to speak with me? He wouldn’t have passed this on. He knows how I am around Lorry.” 

“Well… He doesn’t know. I didn’t tell him. But… Well… the thing is… doesn’t this make Rose my half-sister and then you my roundabout mother?” 

“I… uh… think it does.” 

How many mothers does he have now? Marissa, Nepeta, Jessica and now Roxy? Who needs four mothers? The child of a polygamist? Last he checked, he wasn’t that. 

“Do… Do you want to tell Rose… that you’re half-siblings?” 

“Does she know about… Lorry?” 

“…she thinks that she is the child of an ex-boyfriend of mine that went to jail for getting me pregnant when I was young and then never came back because he can’t stand me after what I did to him. She doesn’t know that it’s her uncle that is her father.” 

“Then no.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t think that she needs to know. She can go her entire live without thinking she is the child of an incestuous asshole and live a happy life. I think… this should just stay between us.” 

“O-ok…. So… now what?” 

“Now…” He sighs and shrugs. “What was Rose like when she was younger?” 

The smile on her face is gentle as she pushes the half-finished whiskey away, returning to her coffee. The first thing out of her mouth is “Rose was a beautiful baby girl. But first…. If you’re Jessica’s child, how are you Rose’s age?” 

(Dave sees what’s wrong with this picture even if Roxy doesn’t. He remembers Rose’s biting hate for her mother as she rants about her constant drinking, her constant self-loath, her constant need for something to keep her mind out of sorts. She used to get so angry that she would cry and Dave remembers hugging her because when she started crying in anger, it fell into real tears and she would cry because she missed her and after that she would sob because _she wasn’t supposed to miss someone who fucked up raising her so much_. Dave would silently hold her and remember his brother, but he can’t remember his brother’s name and his brother is much too old to be Matt and what the fuck is wrong with him? This is just like the dream from the other night. This has been happening too often now. What the fuck is wrong with him? Seriously, Roxy is _right there_ , she isn’t _dead_ , and Rose isn’t sobbing and he isn’t forcing himself not to because _Knights can’t cry in front of Queens_ , whatever the fuck _that_ meant. ) 

“Born a month early.”

“But, she was twelve when I left.” 

“She was twelve when she got pregnant.” 

“Oh my God, really?” 

“Yeah, but let’s talk about that later. Tell me more about Rose.” 

“Well… she had really bad colic.” He laughs and nods….


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but this entire weekend moved up a day so I was too busy. I'm probably not going to post until Monday or Tuesday then.

Karkat waves him down in front of the dojo before they go bowling. Dirk is standing on one side of him and Rose is on the other with Kanaya’s hand in hers. Dave and Roxy have told Rose nothing. She does not even suspect it, despite her obviously higher IQ rating and the way that Dave has taken to protecting her from everything now. He has a shit eating grin on his face. 

“Dude.” 

“The fuck, Karkat? You never call me dude. That’s ridiculous.” 

“I just got an e-mail from the head of SA, right? Well, it’s April soon, right?” 

“Really? I thought it was September.” 

“Idiot. Preliminaries start in, like, three weeks.” 

“Fine, whatever, I don’t give a shit. Why don’t you go tell the others? Maybe you can finally be useful shortstuff.” 

“Fuck off! Kanaya, did you hear that or do I have to tell you while I’m beating the shit into your brother.” She hums from her spot in kissing Rose and lifts her thumb briefly. Karkat grumbles. “Go suck someone’s dick you asswipe. Fucking hell, why the fuck would mom even fucking take care of you? That’s fucking ridiculous. Look how you fucking turned out.” 

“First off,” he replies, “I have a boyfriend, so you’re out of the question and no one else here has a dick, so it doesn’t matter.”—(“Hey!” John and Jake yell and each attempt to slap the back of his head, both of whom miss)—“Second, mom took care of me same reason she took care of you. I mean, I turned out better, too. ‘Least I can fuckin’ use stance sixteen-A.” 

“I’m damn good with that stance.” 

“You have no concept of speed! You win with pure brute strength and the… confusion factor of the God damned sickles. You’ll never get to start winning fights if you don’t seriously hone that. Seriously, there’s a reason you and mom have been training—have you learned nothing.” 

“I’m doing one hell of a fucking time better with that stance than you are!” 

“I was born for that stance, idiot.” 

“You fuck it up more than I do!” 

“That doesn’t mean you should fuckin’ show it off to your God damn sword fightin’ teacher!” 

“Here they go again,” Kanaya whispers. Karkat doesn’t hear her for obvious reasons, only instead lifting his voice even higher as he bashes his horrible use of the stance that Dave is best at. It ends with Karkat punching at his face, but Dave manages to gut an uppercut into his gut before he can make it and he arches his brow. 

“Fuck you ass.” 

He punches him again, only this time Dave takes his wrist and flips him over his back. Karkat lands in a front roll and lifts himself to his feet. Dave chases after him, just for the heck of it, and tauntingly twists out of his punch. 

“Oh, wait!” Kanaya calls. She walks up to both of them, kisses Dave’s forehead, then Karkat’s. “I have ten bucks on Dave. Have fun you two. I expect you’ll catch up after you two are done playing?” 

“Yeah,” he nods and glances at Karkat. He stops and takes a second look. Karkat looks at him and they turn to her, punching her simultaneously. She cackles and tosses the lipstick container in her hand. Rose slips up to her, wraps her waist in her arms and tugs her along. “We’ll see you later, Dave,” she dismisses. “I’ll text you what lanes we’re in when we get there.” 

“Thanks, Rose.” She hums and walks away. He and Karkat turn to each other before wiping each other’s foreheads free of the green makeup. “See what you taught your sister, Karkat?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Dave? Kanaya is _your fucking sister_.” 

And thus, the fight ensued. 

\----------

Dave grins as he catches up to them at the alley. Dirk notices him first and takes the moment to rest his hand on top of his head and use the other to wipe the blood from his split lip away. He doesn’t offer a thanks or even respond to it, but he doesn’t need to. Dirk doesn’t need that kind of pity. So, instead, he stays there and lets him do that. Dirk glances to see no one is looking before he licks at the split. 

“I thought you said no public bullcrap,” Dave whispers, chuckling. 

“That was before I found out you taught Keven that stance.” 

“Needy,” he chuckles and pecks his lips before he walks over to Jade and John. Rose looks up from the computer and punches his name in. 

“Yo, Aya.” 

“Yes?” Kanaya replies, looking up from selecting her ball. 

“You owe me ten.” 

“Well, Karkat can’t use that stance worth shit and you pretty much grew up using that in The House,” Kanaya laughs as she digs a ten and a five out of her wallet. He lifts the edge of the five and arches his brow at her. “For the makeup thing.” 

“You, Aya, are fucking weird.” 

“I love you too, dear brother. Now. Get ready for me to help beat your ass in bowling.” 

He chuckles and pats her cheek. “I didn’t come to play, Aya. I’m just here to fuck around on my laptop while everyone else is playing hard.” 

“You are such a spoil-sport, bro.” 

“Do me a favor Aya.” 

“What?” 

“Never say bro again.” 

She giggles, her smile widening as she winks. “Whatever you say, bro.” 

He shrugs and takes his seat. Out of his bag, he pulls his laptop and opens up the sound software he downloaded back in January. He plugs in his headphones and sets back to listen to some of what he has created. It’s not that good—especially not compared to Dirk’s—but he hasn’t been doing it long and for the time he has spent doing it, he’s impressed with himself. He makes a new file and starts out with a low bass. Dirk comes to sit next to him not long after and he Alt-Tabs over to the internet without realizing the timing. He searches something about WVESHK plus the name of the download, only to find out what it did. He frowns, not liking what it does, and tabs back over to play some more. 

It ends with the Men-and-Jade team winning, the other one losing miserably, but Dave blames Dirk’s impeccable right arm. He saves what he has so far and stuffs his laptop away, walking back to Dirk’s place with him. They are barely through the door before Dirk had him pinned to the wall and his tongue was in his mouth. 

“That,” Dave chuckles as he trails kisses down the older man’s neck, “Is how I like being welcomed back here.” 

Dirk chuckles and Dave takes off both of their shirts to splay his fingers on the other man’s chest. Dirk locks the door while he can and they stumble to the “guest room” (which is pretty much Dave’s by now). They trip over one of his puppets and land on Dirk’s back. He keeps him there, kissing, biting, licking, tasting the older man on his lips as he keeps going. Dirk groans as he moves down his chest and he flicks his tongue over the nipple. He groans gently and shifts again, arching into his mouth as he trails his hand down his happy trail, teasing at his dick with feather-light touches. 

“Dave,” he gasps, arching into him. 

( _A sudden smirk on a lifeless face, encouraging in that form of fear that borders pleasure._ ) 

“What is it you want, Dirk?” A chuckle escapes his throat as he bites down on his collarbone. Dirk arches into him again. 

( _Taunting words thrown at the other as the hash rap battle continues underway. More and more condoms and sex toys pour out of their sylladexes as the younger grows older and he is surprised to see that there is more to it than meets the eye._ ) 

Dirk reaches up, takes the back of his head and drags him up for a hot, sloppy make out. Dave slips his hand inside his pants, flitting his fingers along his length. Dirk groans, dragging his tongue through Dave’s mouth as if that’s where it fucking belonged and Dave is hard pressed not to believe so. 

( _This is disgusting, a minor thought flits through his head one day as he watches him go, why the hell would society fuck me up the ass and prevent me from falling in love properly? There’s a sob there, too, but Dave can’t tell whose._ ) 

“You. I want you”—his hand gropes between Dave’s legs, finding what he wants immediately—“in me, fucking me, hard. Now.” 

( _What the fuck kid? I’m not the only one? We can’t do this._ ) 

Dave smirks and licks a long line down his chest, blowing on his wet nipple as he goes. He stops outside of his jeans. “You got any lube?” 

( _Nah, bro… You aren’t the only one. And I know…. Listen. Can I go… play that game with John and the others now? That SBurb one?_ ) 

“C’mon,” he groans as he stands, pulling Dave with him. The make outs are sloppy and disgusting, more cheek than mouth, but he follows along with it anyway, because he has never felt this hot before (or, at least, he doesn’t think he has.) 

( _…yeah, kid. I… I’ll be in the kitchen. –But what he really wants to say is_ No _and_ Let me love you.) 

Dirk pulls the lube and a condom out of the side drawer of Dave’s room and he smirks as he undoes Dirk’s pants, pulling them away. Dirk sheds Dave’s as he pushes him back on the bed, slicks his fingers and gently pushes one in. He’s uncomfortably tight and he arches violently, but he groans anyway. ( _Ok thanks, he says and hides the tears behind his glasses. –But, what he really wants to say is_ fuck that shit _and_ please let me love you, _but that will never happen, never_.) 

He slips a second finger, and a third, teases a fourth and finally Dirk decides he has had enough and starts demanding his dick. He curls his fingers twice to find his prostate before he pulls out, puts the condom on, slicks up and sinks in. He has to stop all the way in to stand the violent seizing, but that’s ok because Dirk has to readjust to something hitting his prostate straight on anyway. 

( _Hey, Bro?_ ) 

He pulls out slowly and thrusts back in. Dirk calls out, his hands going to his back, scratching long, red marks down the skin. Dave’s mouth latches to his neck and he starts to suck. 

( _Yeah?_ ) 

Dirk is, surprisingly, loud in bed. He mumbles incoherently, thrusting onto him, silently begging for more in his way of never saying “more”. And Dave gives it to him because doing that makes him want more and, really, Dirk is just the perfect lay. 

( _If… we weren’t related… do you think we could do that?_ ) 

Dirk arches into him, letting out almost a pitiful whimper as he comes, splashing both of them. 

( _I don’t know. Maybe kid. Maybe if you were older. Maybe if I lived in a world where we’re not related. But I don’t live there, so I don’t know._ ) 

Dave can’t possibly last after that display. He comes in two thrusts and Dirk groans at the feeling. 

( _…Is it bad that sometimes I wish you hadn’t found me?_ ) 

He slips out slowly and presses a kiss to Dirk’s forehead as he falls to his side. 

( _…No kid. Come here.—A kiss to his forehead and a loving embrace that harms both of them more than helps. –It’s ok. I still love you._ ) 

Dirk smiles sleepily at him and laughs as they take off their glasses. In their hurry, it hadn’t really mattered anyway. 

( _I still love you too. –Broken sobbing as he admits it and they cling to each other even if it’s the one thing making them sob._ ) 

Dave gets up, grabs a rag and cleans the other man up before cleaning himself up. 

( _I am so sorry Dave. So sorry.—But it’s the same voice saying, right now--_ ) 

“I am so not sorry, that I have a huge bruise on my back from that fall in the hall if this is what I got out of it.” 

Dave laughs as he kisses him again, because it’s the exact opposite of the voices in his head and he’s still going crazy, but that’s what he needed to hear anyway. Dirk smirks and pulls him close, yet again surprising Dave as he’s clingy after sex. Dave doesn’t mind. It makes him feel wanted, and that’s the one thing that Matt never did. After Matt finishes with him, he always leaves, so Dave has to pick up after himself, but Dirk clings to him, sleepily curled around him. Dave hums and lets it. 

Despite the comparison, Dave doesn’t link the two of them together in his mind. All he knows is that he is comfortable with the way that Dirk wraps himself around him and calmly wraps his arms around him. The thought of Matt never once occurs. He’s too busy with Dirk right there lying in his arms. 

Speaking of him, he hums and pulls him close. 

“What’s on your mind?” Dave asks quietly. 

“Y’ever feel like something with your life doesn’t make sense?” 

“Why d’ya ask?” 

“Well… I’m not entirely sure. Sometimes, I feel like I remember something, but it’s not from this world, y’know? Never mind. It’s probably from a dream I had years ago and didn’t put any thought to.” Dave shrugs and nods, rolling them over until Dirk’s head rests on his sternum. His fingers clench on Dave’s side, making his muscles squirm. The older man chuckles and does it three more times until Dave has to slap the back of his head. He does it one last time and leaves it be. “It’s just that… sometimes I feel like I’m living two lives and having a hard time telling what is real and what is fantasy.” 

Dave chuckles but pointedly refuses to reference that song. Dirk doesn’t make any indication that he knows what he’s chuckling about and figures that he was being entirely serious. (He remembers Nepeta, one time, when she was seventeen, sitting up with him after a particularly rough beating, just holding him as she counts off the names of the constellations they could see because they had been thrown out of the house for the week. Karkat had been lying beside them, curled lightly in sleep, but he was long gone and the pain had been too much for Dave to sleep through. At some point, she had just cradled both of them close [he and Karkat, believe it or not, had been able to stand that kind of distance to the point where after Nepeta left them they had to sit up several nights in a row just hugging and eventually Kanaya and Terezi became Dave’s replacements] and muttered about how “the memories are just so hard to distinguish sometimes, my baby, that’s why I roleplay because when I do that, then I know that it’s neither universe’s memories, but just current-time”, like that had made sense. It didn’t. It still doesn’t.) He brushes his fingers through the older man’s hair and kisses the crown of his head. 

“Do me a favor Dirk.” 

“What?” 

“Count off fifteen seconds.” 

“Why?” 

“Just do it.” 

“One—two—three….” Dirk falls out of time with the metronome at seven and he chuckles at the end. “Why?” 

“Is your favorite number seven?” 

He tilts his head up and gives him an odd look. “How did you know that?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “Not important. Why do you like the number seven?” 

“I’m not sure. I just do. Seriously, how did you guess that?” 

“You sped up to get to seven and tried to slow down to get to the others, but you had already messed up.” 

“Fine, smart-ass, what’s your favorite number?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t have one.” 

“What’s the first you think of?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s the letter O in the alphabet.” 

“So?” 

“Your eyes are orange.” 

“Fucking _sap_.” Despite this, his face has heated brightly and he dips his head to hide it in Dave’s chest. He chuckles and shifts his arms around him until me manages to coax Dirk into lying between his legs, completely relaxed. Dirk wraps his arms around his waist and presses a quick kiss to his hip. His finger brushes Dave’s birthmark and he _definitely does not giggle, nu-uh, no way, fuck you Dirk, that’s not funny_. “Why did you want me to do that?” 

Dave hums and shrugs. “You’ll think I’m crazy.” 

“If I told you half of the things that go through my head, you would think I’m fucking schizophrenic.” He kisses his belly again, this time leaving his thumb to rest inside of his naval. His stomach squirms and Dave wonders if it’s really that sensitive or if Dirk is just tickling him because he’s Dirk. 

“You’ll think I’m crazy.” 

“And if I do? I might as well be a schizo, who the fuck would believe me if I told someone about it?” 

Dave curls his fingers through the locks of golden blond hair and shrugs. “Ever play piano?” 

“No.” 

“Ever watch someone?” 

“No?” 

“Ever feel like lying so you can play along with what I’m saying?” 

“No.” 

“A metronome. Fucking tell me you’ve heard of that, ass.” 

“I have.” 

“If it’s set to the right tempo, it will forever hit center-mark each time a second ticks to the next, ok?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m just… really in-tune with that metronome with the correct tempo,” he mutters. “Sometimes, it’s like I hear it, other times, it’s like it’s part of me. I used to think everyone could hear it. I mean, Aradia hears it as each minute changes to the next, but I hear it by the second.” 

“So?” 

“So? It’s Time. Time is important to me, like, like winning is to Keven and Rose is to Kanaya.” 

“But I’m not.” 

“Of course you’re not, why the hell would the only guy I have dated for more than three weeks mean anything to me? Especially when he’s lying between my fuckin’ legs.” Dirk kisses the hollow of his throat and he chuckles, keeping his fingers locked around his waist. 

“That day that you were at the club and that you can’t remember,” Dirk whispers. “You sounded so anguished when you said that you had never lost so much time before.” 

“You remember that?” 

“Yeah, you had forced me to hug someone for the first time since Rose was first born, I pretty much remember every second of that night. Anyway, is that why you were so hurt? Because that’s never something you have ever had to worry about before?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs. “I can’t really describe what I had been feeling at the time. In the morning, will you tell me more about your relationship with Roxy?” 

“Sure I guess. Why?” 

“Because if you tell me now, I’ll fall asleep half way through.” 

Dirk grumbles and pulls the blanket up. “I can’t believe I’m sleeping on this horrible bed again.” 

“Every night that you sleep with me on this bed, I will pop your back for you. Deal?” 

He sighs. “As tempting as that is, we’re not doing this every single night we sleep together. My back can’t stand that. So, we’re going to sleep on the futon sometimes too.” 

“N’ok,” he shrugs. He glances around before tugging the blanket up completely and making a mental note to plug his laptop in before he goes to work. 

“You sure Marissa isn’t going to flip her shit?” 

“It’s Wednesday.” 

“I’m not following.” 

“Wednesday is the day that Robert works until eleven, so Marissa goes on her date with her boyfriend until about ten-thirty. Speaking of them, how do you really know Marissa? There’s no way that woman would ever pick up a blade, so don’t try that with me.” 

“She used to come up to my DJ stand and talk with me while she waited for her boyfriend-of-the-month. So you knew the entire time that she’s cheating on Robert.” 

“Robert is twenty years her senior—why would she want to stay with him? That’s ridiculous. He was already in college when she was born. Matt and I used to make bets over which bar she would go to. We never found out.” 

“Marionette,” he explains. Dave chuckles and smirks, imagining all of the money he could have possibly won had they been brave enough to sneak off after her. “And I’m twenty years your senior.” 

“You are ten, idiot, that’s one hell of a lot different. And, more than that, I got together with you because I wanted to. Marissa got with Robert for the money.” 

He hums for a moment before he shrugs. 

“Oh no. No, you are not comparing our relationship with my parents'. Dirk Strider, you are a fucking horrible man if you think that something as stupid as- as whatever the fuck you’re thinking would break us up.” 

“I’m just paranoid,” he replies. “I don’t know why. The whole duo-life thing.” He takes a deep breath, lets it out and kisses him again. “Good night, Dave.” 

“Night, Dirk.” He kisses his forehead and watches the older man as he falls asleep. Dave waits for him to go completely under before letting himself finally freak out for being able to be the top in sex. It was weird, unusual, and he was flying with barely more than what he remembers Matt doing to him, but fuck if he didn’t understand why people enjoy it. 

He doesn’t let himself freak out long else he should wake the other man. 

He tunes into the metronome and ignores the duality between both Nepeta with Dirk and himself and Aradia that Sollux would be all over had he gotten the chance to hear it. 

He dreams of the stock market and wakes up with his phone in his hand and the sell button under his finger pressed. He shrugs, as the one he has sold is one he has been thinking of selling for a while now, and sets it aside. He rolls them over and settles between Dirk’s legs, fitting better there than the other way around. Dirk mutters Dave’s name in his sleep and something that has to do with swords that was probably more than a double entendre. Dave chuckles and pulls the blanket back up. Dirk’s hands rest one on his hip the other on his shoulder. 

“Hey you.” 

He has no idea who says that, but he jerks up and looks around. Dirk grunts and grumbles, his eyes opening blearily as he tries to force the sleep from them. 

“What the hell is your problem, Dave?” 

“You didn’t hear that?” 

“Hear _what_ , Dave? I was fucking asleep.” 

“I’m really sorry,” he sighs and kisses him before laying back down on his chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.” 

He hums and kisses him again. “What did you think you heard?” 

“…nothing. Just… I thought I heard one of our voices, but neither of us said it.” 

“I’m not following.” 

“I was half asleep. I probably dreamt it.” 

“Ok.” He settles back to sleep again. Dave shudders and relaxes, trying to go back to sleep. 

There is a hand between his shoulders and a constant pressure near his ear as someone’s breath ghosts over the cartilage. “Don’t play dumb with me, Dave. I know you heard me. Now, don’t jump. Just calmly stand up and meet me in the living room.” 

He turns to see who it is talking to him. 

This must be a dream. 

The person who is standing in front of him has albino skin, cotton fuzz white hair, and is wearing a black suit. He has round-edged glasses and thin-pressed lips. 

This must be a dream. 

You can’t hold a conversation with yourself. 

Can you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know that sex scene didnt really do much for ya, but there is a lot of plot in it and I figured I would spice it up more as it goes along because, trust me, this is not the only time they have sex.


	15. Chapter 15

The “Dave” in front of him (is he even him? Could they just be doppelgangers?) is slightly taller than him. That’s the only real huge difference between the two of them that the original Dave can see, besides the tuxedo. Probably only two inches or-so. Everything other than that is his bird-styled cotton fuzz white hair, his black glasses, his thin lips, his less-color-than-white skin, his slightly-broad-yet-slim shoulders set to the perfect size for speed-fighting and his angular jaw. His eyes are hidden by the sunglasses that Dave left on the bedside table next to Dirk’s and he’s pretty sure that’s the only _out-right, elephant-in-the-room_ distinction between them because even the thin, colorless scars on his skin aren’t noticeable. 

“So,” the other, taller self (his dream self, because, really, this is impossible—where’s the fucking Legendary Rule of _Magic: The Gathering_ when you need it?) starts. He has a small smirk, but there’s an element of tenseness in his jaw, like he’s regretting something. Dave—the real Dave, the one that’s dreaming this entire thing up—wonders what that could possibly be because he’s not one to be “regretful”, even if he does something so utterly wrong it almost gets someone killed. Almost. No one has yet died on his behalf. “You and Dirk are already together.” 

“Yeah….” 

“That seems like years ago,” he chuckles ruefully and presses his hand to his forehead. He takes a deep breath and his chest stops moving as he forces himself to stay calm. The air rushes out of his body in one silent movement. Dave’s eyes (the real one, and he feels like he has to stand here and remind himself that he is the real one and his Dream-self is his Dream-self because this is so _fucking bizarre_ and he is unusually _freezing_ but he’s still vaguely positive that you cannot _feel anything_ in dreams) follow the other’s hand as it falls from his forehead and he notices the hilt of a _real_ katana poking out of his side that had, somehow, gone previously unnoticed. “Never mind that, got it? That’s not what’s important here. But, um… can I advise you something?” 

“What?” 

“Cherish your time together. God, I wish I had. It was so short.” 

“Short? What are you talking about?” 

Dream-Dave shakes his head and Dave feels it necessary to remind himself, again, just who is who. “It’s… not important. Or, that part isn’t. I’m here to tell you about the Arena.” 

“SBurb Arena?” 

“Yes.” 

“What about it?” 

“First off? You’ll do fine—just _keep your head in the game when you fight a woman named Agatha Gaspard,_ ok?” He offers an odd look and shrugs. Dream-Dave demands he agree, so he nods. He isn’t sure that he can really talk in anything more than stinted sentences, so he doesn’t even bother trying. “I got so _pissed_ when I was fighting her that if it wasn’t for Karkat, I would be dead right now. You would. Fuck, this is confusing and I’ve had more years at practice than you, what the fuck? Oh, fucking gog, ignore my ranting; I’m a little nervous myself. Purposefully traveling the timeline is a lot different than accidentally and it rattles the brain so much, at least when you’re going to the past it is, I haven’t tried the future. I don’t think I will. I don’t think I want to know. Gog damn it, I’m ranting again.” 

“Y’mean ‘God’?” 

“What’cha mean?” 

“You… keep sayin’… ‘gog’, but it’s… it’s ‘God’ right?” 

Dream-Dave chuckles again and shakes his head. “God abandoned us the moment Secondary Rounds commenced. It’s hard to immediately stop sayin’ something engrained in your brain from birth, though, so everyone started sayin’ ‘gog’. You’ll see. You’ll see.” 

Dream-Dave pushes him back and sets him down. He kneels on the couch beside him and forces him to look him in his shades. “I’m here to make sure you don’t make the same mistake we made, damn it. Do you understand?” 

“What the fuck kind of bullshit dream is this?” 

“Don’t dreams usually physically manifest subconscious worries and whatever? So yours is a little more direct, what’s the big deal?” 

“Uh… they usually… either dissipate or you—you wake up when you realize th-that you’re dreaming, too….” 

“This message is that important, then. So fuckin’ shut up and listen, damn it. We made a huge mistake—Equius and I did. We set the problem equal to the derivative of X-squared, but that’s not what it should be.” 

“Dude, what the fuck? Are you talking about the weapons? The only one we did that with was Terezi’s for her long-range.” 

“ _And it should have been fine,_ except that we forgot about the fuckin’ back-pressure while it’s sheathed. It blew back on her. She went blind. Do you love Terezi?” 

“As a _sister_ , sure.” 

“You need to keep her sense of sight. She isn’t the person she was last time—she won’t have anything or one or whatever to teach her how to deal. And she will _die_. Karkat—Karkat’s fuckin’ in love with her, man, it’s so gog damned obvious but none of us wanted to admit it to ourselves because their relationship is so horrible outwardly. Don’t let that fool you. They’re just insecure.” 

“So… what happens… to Karkat when she dies?” 

“He fell apart. He was grieving so hard. He couldn’t sleep because all he would dream about was her. He tried constantly. He- it was horrible. I couldn’t watch it and I’m his _fucking brother_. We- we sent him in to a fight—an easy one, really, he should have finished in less than two minutes, but he didn’t. He- he was murdered. Gamzee was in a rage when he died. Fuckin’ killed mom and Equius! And then- then Vriska killed Tavros for letting his boyfriend fly off the handle like that and Sollux fell in and out of a coma because he was nearly killed by Eridan, too, and he lost so much blood that one time he was blind when he woke up and they were only able to fix one eye by the next time he woke up, but he- he was still out of it. He was never the same. And- and Terezi, Terezi would have killed Vriska, if she could, we all know that, so, so Vriska was sobbing when she killed Tavros and- and fuckin’ killed herself in Terezi’s name. Aradia took up most of the weight for a while, but we- we broke. Eridan- Eridan started going on and on about how we were forsaken sinners and- and we had to be saved by the fuckin’ angels of the battle field and he would- would talk about these things and he says he used to fight them but he never did. Sometimes, I swear, he was living his life vicariously through another or the other way around, I don’t know, just that his memories weren’t _his_ , at least not _my his_ , but still! He’s the one that sent Sollux into the coma and Feferi got mad, demanded that he- that he step out of the fighting, it was tearing us all apart and- and he killed her too! Then, then Kanaya, she- she got tired of all of the killing s-so she killed Eridan and how does that make the least bit of sense? And the entire time, I was there, watching everything happen but I couldn’t show any emotion, show I was breaking, worry the others because- because that’s what a fucking _Knight does_.” 

He doesn’t know when Dream-Dave turns away from him, or when he began to hold his temples in his hands or even when he began hyperventilating, but Real-Dave can barely make out what he’s saying at the end, he’s that far into hysterics. Real-Dave considers consoling Dream-Dave, but he thinks that he won’t be able to touch him without him falling into dust and the weird dream dissolving completely. Now that he has gotten over the shock of seeing him in person-dream-dream-person-whatever-he-doesn’t-know (though he finds it odd that he isn’t thinner and more hidden than he is because _that’s how Dave sees himself_ ), he has begun to think somewhat-straight. 

Still, Dream-Dave continues in his high-pitched hysterical voice, “but, but, but none of this would have happened if, if we hadn’t have _fucked up_ so much and, and it’s _all my fault!_ And, and then we- we fuckin’ _joined teams_ , right? But, but that didn’t help and s-sis died and, and fuck me, fuck all of us, _how could I have let her down like this_? And her girlfriend was distraught and she died, too, and then _both of their moms died_ but, but, that didn’t even stop them and they _aren’t even the main boss! S-so_ , so then everyone else died and- and it’s just m-me and the other five, but- but Jay can’t fight, not anymore, no way, he’s broken and bleeding and- and he dies mid-fight and his sister tries to get revenge, b-but one of her bullets hits _me_ and I go down and then _she dies as does her dad_. N-now all that’s left is- is th-three of us and we won’t make it, I know we won’t, but, but we go on anyway. _Then he dies and I break and I can’t do it, I can’t fucking do it,_ s-s-so, I can’t even say her name anymore, th-the Maid—you get that? The fuckin’ _Maid_ dies, too, protecting me and I’m just a fuckin’ wimp, I’m such a God forsaken, rotten wimp that not even Karkat’s best insult can describe that I- I”—he sobs and shakes so hard that the couch shakes with him—“I fuckin’ give up and I- I say I-I’ll show t-to the next one, j-just like the others and- and now _I’m the only one left, why, why did I do that? Why?_ ” 

This time, the sob rips from his chest. Real-Dave’s heart feels like it has been stabbed through thrice with an icicle as he watches himself break down like this. Wimp? Since when was _he_ a wimp? It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t remember ever doing that (but he does, like that time when Dirk didn’t give him the answer he needed to hear about the bed and the single-bedroom, but he still swears to himself that this will never be mentioned again)—he has never backed out of a challenge nor stepped out of the way if he could. He is _that annoying-ass-guy_ who is willing to die for others if he has to and never once even consider pinning the blame on them. 

“I… have no idea what the fuck I am supposed to say to myself,” he says quietly. “But you surrendered because you’re human.” 

“ _No_ , I’m _not_ ,” he sobs and his fingers turn grey in his hair as he curls the nails hard enough to break the skin of his palms open. He sobs again and shakes his head. “We swore—we _swore_. None of us—none of us—we- we s-swore, fuck, we swore! He’s- oh Gog, why, why? I already betrayed them once! I let them all _die. Why would I do that?_ ” He sobs again and this time it’s a lot more violent than before. Dave reaches out to touch him, but the touch burns like a crocodile snapped shut its jaws around his hand. Dream-Dave hunches forward as if it had been worse for him. He slips to his knees on the ground and grabs Real-Dave’s knees, digging his fingers in until he looks him in the eye. They are redder than usual and he is sniffling grossly. Tears have stained his face in four places and down the side of his right nostril. He is everything but attractive right now, even if it wasn’t himself he is looking at. 

“ _Don’t you ever—ever agree to go with Lord English. He is vile, evil, and he will kill all of your friends, your boyfriend and your family._ ” 

“Who the fuck is Lord English?” 

“He is the president of SBurb Arena. And he will kill everyone.” 

“But… Terezi and the others—“ 

He shakes his head. “You’ll understand soon. For now… now you need to fix Rezi’s”—he sobs at her name—“Terezi’s weapon. And go to bed. Just—just don’t brush this off, damn it. Damn it! This is the whole reason I came back here, so please, _please_ , don’t ignore this. I- I’ve done the same shit you have and- and none of that- none of that is _worth this, damn it, damn it, do you understand?_ ” He adds more, but Real-Dave can’t make it out through the hysterics. He just lets him kneel there, sobbing his eyes out until his breathing slows to achy, broken heaves and sniffles. He wonders when he took his glasses off, but doesn’t remember that either. 

“You need to go back to Dirk,” he whispers. “Cherish your time with him, sleep calmly, before it’s all over. I wish I had. Oh, gog, I wish I had.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Can… we’re the same person right? S-so… c-can I please…. Please can I just… see him one last time?” Three more tears fall as Real-Dave nods and stands. Dream-Dave follows close behind. 

Real-Dave watches from the background as Dream-Dave slowly walks out and drops to his knees beside the bed. He takes his hand in his and gently flicks his thumb over the knuckles. He presses his lips to the curl of his fingers. Dirk shifts slightly in his sleep and rolls towards him, muttering “Dave” in his sleep. Dream-Dave chuckles and presses his lips to his forehead, letting his free hand linger in his hair. Dirk’s shoulders shift again and he hums. There’s a pause as Dream-Dave kisses his eyes, once each, then his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, his ears and, hesitantly, his lips. Dirk’s eyes flutter open momentarily. At first, he doesn’t say anything, just looks confused and worried, then slowly something dawns on him and he lifts a single hand to cup his cheek. 

His voice is rough and lower than usual, but understandable. “You’re not my Dave.” 

“No,” he whispers back and shakes his head. “No I’m not.” 

“But he said that this is ok?” 

“Yeah,” he nods once. Dirk smiles briefly before he pecks his lips. “He loved you, your Dirk. That’s all he ever talked about when we met up.” 

“But he’s been dead for years now.” 

“I met my Dave long after you met your Dirk. Technically. But I’ve been meeting them for years now.” 

“Years?” 

“Yes.” 

He frowns briefly before he smiles again and kisses his chin. “Thank you. Thank you so much. That was… something we never really got the chance to talk about. But… thank you.” 

“He wouldn’t be mad at you. He would be furious if you died. Right now, he’s just happy you finally realized your life is worth something.” 

“He’s dead, Dirk; he can’t feel anything.” 

He chuckles lowly and smirks. “You have much to learn. Now, go. Before English realizes that you’re gone.” 

“Ok.” 

And just like that, he’s gone. No pop, no sound, just _gone_. Dirk makes a noise in the back of his throat and rubs at his eye. “What are you doing up?” He asks. His voice is somehow different than when he was with Dream-Dave, like he’s actually awake versus talking in his sleep (which he does and it is hilarious—the conversations they have). “And why are you dressed? What day is it?” 

“Someone was at the door,” he answers. “Some idiot telling us about Armageddon. It’s not important.” 

“Dave, so long as you’re standing, will you do something for me?” 

“What?” 

“Strip down and get in bed.” 

He chuckles gently and does as he asks. Dirk rolls toward him and wraps his arm around his waist. Dave puts his head on his chest and hums. “What were you dreaming about, Dirk?” 

“An old friend of mine and I were talkin’. Why?” 

“Curious.” 

“What about you?” 

“Talking to a future me? I don’t know. Go to sleep.” He hums in agreement and settles in.


	16. Chapter 16

                Dave wakes to Dirk making breakfast, yet again. He shimmies up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, poking his head over his shoulder to kiss the scar under his eye and watch as his experienced hands work over the batter. Dirk relaxes against him and Dave chuckles lightly with a small smile.

                “Why do you want to know about me an’ Roxy?” Dirk asks. Dave takes the moment to compare his speech with his type-text and wonders why it is that he speaks the way he does when he knows what proper syntax is. At the same time, Dave knows that he can get pretty lazy with the way he talks and let either of his accents into his own tongue.

                “’Cus’”—case and point—“you two seem close, but at the same time I get the whole thing with her brother. I just kind-of want to know how you two interacted as kids versus now. I guess.” 

                “She told me about why you wanted to speak to her back in January.” 

                He winces. “She did?” 

                “Yes. Of course she did. She told me all about Lorry DuBois and Jessica LaBeck. She tells me everything. Especially about how you wanted to know as much about your half-sister as you could. I’m just assumin’ here, but I’m guessing that’s part of the reason why you want to know.”

                “Part-of, sure….” Dirk shrugs in his arms, turns his head and catches his cheekbone in a quick, silent kiss. Dave smirks briefly and returns to watching him cook.

                “Anyway, what do you want to know?”

                “How did you meet?”

                “It was shortly after I ran away from The Home,” he explains as he breaks an egg into the batter and pulls a pan out of the cupboard. Dave keeps his hand steady so that the yoke doesn’t break open on the counter and Dirk chuckles as he realizes that. “It had been Nepeta’s idea for me to leave. We both knew that I was a Troll in everything but the title and she didn’t want me to go through any more of what we both were going through. We had both planned to go together, but she ended up chickening out when we almost got caught leaving. But she bawled when I tried to say that I would wait with her and demanded I leave. I’ve never been good with her crying. Bit of a wimp when it came to her tears.”

                Dave chuckles and nods. “Not the only one. I don’t blame’ya. That woman knows how to work someone with just a sniffle.”

                Dirk chuckles and nods. “Anyway, I ran. Within the day, I had made it to Portland. By then, Nepeta and I had jobs—you know how that place works, of _course_ we had them, despite my being twelve and her being ten—and we both had Pesterchum, so we were able to talk. S’when she confessed that she calls herself Nepeta and that, in her mind, my name was Daniel.”

                “Wait, what?”

                “I didn’t have a name, either, but not because I was a Troll. I had, probably, thirteen or fourteen different names, one for each of the counselors.”

                “What did you call yourself then?”

                “I didn’t. I just went by whichever.”

                “Ok. Continue.”

                “Well, I just kept running. When I was in Laughlin, I was nearly brought back to there, so I kept at it. Somewhere in Idaho, I had found a small knife and kept it with me. I was pretty desperate by the time the people that I call my parents found me. It’s a funny story, how we met.” 

                “How?”

                “It was outside of a Kroger. They had been walking by where I was when I tried to mug them. For months, I thought they were Trolling me when they brought me in, but then they asked if they could adopt me.” He shrugs. “They had just called me ‘Dirk’ and the name stuck.”

                “Why did they call you by that name?”

                “Well, that weapon I found? It’s some sort of Scottish thrusting knife called a ‘dirk’. I have it around here somewhere. So, that’s how I got the name. Anyway, shortly after they adopted me and we took a picture together, I got really sick. Something about prolonged pneumonia or something. _My-co-plasmal pneumonia,_ from living in The House. Didn’t even know I had it until it was almost too late. I was stuck in the hospital. Talk about guilt.” Dave chuckles and nods, thinking of Kanaya and how her parents took her in just to give her chemo immediately afterward. “Anyway, on one of my less-lucid days, I got a Random Encounter. It was from a young woman, slightly older than me but not by much, who had been impregnated by her brother. I don’t actually remember any of this stuff, but the day after I looked back at my logs to find that I was being a total ass.

                “The first thing I did was message her with a huge-ass paragraph-long apology. I went on and on about how I didn’t actually think that she was disgusting or any of the bigotry I had spouted the day before. She hadn’t replied yet, so I just kept going on and on about everything in new posts. In the half-hour it took for her to reply, I had apologized so many times over things that I hadn’t even done. It was only after I told her not to kill herself that she replied.”

                “What’d she say?”

                “To shut up and let her finish reading what I had put. Some people fall asleep at their computers, evidently, and don’t use the auto-idle feature. Longest seven minutes of my life, even to this day. After she started replying again, it was a laugh, an emot-icon—“

                “How do you remember this?”

                “I was beating myself up, what do you expect? Like I said, longest pause _of my life_. I thought someone was going to kill themselves because I was some high-on-meds bigot that didn’t know half of what he was saying. Can I continue?”

                “Sure.”

                “Ok, so she was laughing, had the emot-icon of a smile and said that she accepted the apologies and asked why I thought she would kill herself. We started talking and she confessed to being drunk—which, kind-of explains a lot, now that I think about it—and she told me everything about Lorry and I told her everything about The House and my new family. I also found out about how she was about to get disowned because neither of her parents had siblings and all of her grandparents are dead. We talked for another week before she confessed that she has been drunk every night since we first, quote-unquote, met. I talked to my parents and they agreed that they would let her live with them if she agreed to stop drinking. She did.

                “She didn’t actually come to live with us for three more weeks, mostly because she had to tell her parents, tell Lorry and move out. She never told Jessica, evidently. She took the bus system down and our parents talked before they agreed that they would pay for her. I think mom and dad still have that money squared away somewhere. Roxy was… unusually clingy at random times of the day, so that was something that we had to get used to. But, it’s not like she’s not still like that nowadays. She just needed someone to be there for her. Then Rose was born and I don’t know about you, but I’m a light sleeper. Roxy would stay up nights on end until she passed out to make sure she was ok, so I pitched in when I could and took care of her. S’why she calls me her uncle.” 

                “So, do you know if Lorry had any other kids than Rose and me?”

                “Roxy said he had another one—another son—but nothing else really than that. She doesn’t know his name or any of that, but the mere fact that she knows is enough.”

                “How did she learn?”

                “Well, Lorry was engaged to another woman—she was sixteen at the time, so three years my senior, think Jane’s age—when Roxy and Jessica got pregnant. They were married for ten years when Roxy got a letter in the mail from her, explaining how they are getting divorced after learning about Rose and what he did to her. She also made sure to explain that it wasn’t the only reason they were getting one, but it was the deciding factor and that she wanted to meet. As far as I’m aware, they haven’t met yet.”

                “So, basically, what you’re telling me is that somewhere out there I have another half-sibling. Well, fuck. I thought that having eleven siblings and a Troll-mom was hard enough, now genetics are at hand!”

                Dirk laughs and kisses his cheek again. Dave hugs him tighter and kisses the back of his neck, right where he knows Dirk is sensitive at. Dirk works silently, shimmying over to the stove without a single care in the world. They stand in silence as Dave processes the story and Dirk hums to himself, stuck on auto-pilot as he pays attention to his mind. Dave has to massage his fingers into his hip to get him to start in order for him to listen to him.

                “Y’know, I never would have guessed you’re a bottom, Dirk.” 

                He feels the other man flush through the heat of their skin. He chuckles to himself, but doesn’t tell Dirk that he can feel it. He honestly feels like Dirk would make up some sort of “ironic lie” to hide the embarrassment. Yet again, Dave feels like he would do the same and kicks the thought of Freud out of his mind and whatever his “displacement” term meant. He didn’t often pay attention in that class. “I’m a swinger,” he mutters. “Just happened that way last night. Changes with who I’m with.” 

                Dave chuckles again and nudges him until he looks at his profile. He turns and kisses him slowly, pleasantly.

\-----

                Dave walks into Dirk’s apartment two weeks later at twelve-forty-three on a Friday afternoon to find Roxy on the opposite side of the room with Jake, Jane on the couch beside Dirk and all four of them in a deep conversation about some sort of pistol. Dirk looks over the edge of the couch and greets him briefly before he walks to the back and puts his bag down. When he comes out, Roxy is laughing at Jane as she hides her face in her hands. Jake has more class in chuckling silently behind his hand, but Dirk is drinking out of a _Dos Equis_ beer that the embarrassed woman left on the table.

                “That bag is larger than usual,” Dirk mentions as he comes out, the smirk on his face a little too large. “Somethin’ happenin’?”

                He shrugs and comes up behind him, leans down and kisses him briefly. The laughter stops as Roxy realizes what’s happening and Jane peeks out from behind her fingers to see. Jake seems completely unfazed by the “new and startling” revelation. He thinks that the other probably knew already. “Matt’s comin’ home for spring break,” he explains. “Figured I’d stay here for the first few days.” 

                “You can’t keep avoiding him.”

                “I can so long as my boyfriend lets me.”

                “I’m not kicking you out.”

                “Good. Talk to you later. Only reason why I’m here right now is because Aranea asked me to drop them off somewhere _other_ than the back room. Anyway, on my break.”

                “Don’t be late. See you later.” Dave kisses him again and leaves. He lingers long enough to hear Dirk start to ask something else through the door, but Roxy cuts him off with “what _the fuck_ do you think you’re doing with _my son_?”

                He has to fight down the giddy smile as something he has never experienced before floods him at the words “my son”. It’s warm and makes his shoulders relax and it is definitely something he feels he would never be able to experience otherwise. He hurries to work so that he doesn’t have to think of it either way.

                Aranea notices and asks if something’s wrong. He tries to keep silent and nods her off, saying he’s just distracted. Vriska elbows him and demands to know when the wedding day is. He punches the back of her head, they get into a small, weaponless scuffle and everything returns to normal.

                When he returns back home (Dirk’s, he reminds himself, but it might as well be “home”), the other three are gone and Dirk looks tired. He also has the start of a bruise on his temple, which he kisses as soon as he notices. Dirk smiles at him and wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him close. Dave lets him, leaning against his entire length. He curls his arms around his waist in return, resting his head on his shoulder. Dirk pecks his forehead. “You probably don’t want to get too close to me.”

                “Why do you say that?”

                “With all the shit I’m in with Roxy, I’m sure I don’t smell too good.” Dave chuckles lightly and wonders how long it took him to come up with that one. “You have no idea. I’m fuckin’ ear-deep in the crap. So not cool.”

                “Why do you say that?”

                “After we kissed today, she got really defensive. Started callin’ you her son. Then Jane got on my ass. Only reason Jake wasn’t is because he already knew. He’s on neither side though.”

                “What d’you mean?”

                “He thinks that the age-difference is a bit much, but evidently he thinks I’ve _‘changed’_ since we got together, whatever that means. So he’s neither for nor against our relationship. Jane flipped sides after she realized it, too, so I have one person against it, one for it and one on neither. Though, I think the only reason Roxy is against it is because you’re her roundabout son and she didn’t know about it previously.” 

                “X equals Y but Y does not equal X,” Dave grumbles, but smiles anyway and pecks his lip. “Missed you.”

                “Missed you too. Wanna watch _300_ later?”

                “Sure,” he yawns and tightens his arms around him until Dirk does the same back. “I don’t really care. We’re just going to mute it and redub it anyway.”

                “Something wrong?”

                “No, not really.” Dirk nudges him again and picks him up. Dave punches his shoulder rather roughly, but Dirk shrugs it off and sits both of them on the couch. Dave hums as he pulls the thin sheet up and they stay silent until he’s nudged twice more. “It’s just Matt.”

                “What about him?”

                “I don’t like that he’s back in town and you’re fighting with the others.”

                “You realize that even on the off-hand chance that we do break up, I’m still not going to kick you out of the house, right? I mean, you’re welcome to stay so long as you have to. Even longer if needed…. Or wanted.”

                Dave chuckles and nods. He understands what he means by that, but he doesn’t push it. He would rather think of it first. He is, after all, sixteen. “Nah, it’s not like that Dirk. And I’ll have to go back to talk to him later this week. Marissa knows about me being in a relationship, even if she doesn’t know who-with because of obvious reasons. She thinks I’m staying the nights at your house for work reasons, which isn’t entirely a lie. Either way, Matt and I are going to have to talk.”

                “Want me to be there?”

                “No… just keep your phone at hand for when I freak.”

                “I don’t like the idea of you going there _just_ to do that, though. I will be there if you need me, no ifs, ands or buts about it.”

                “You just don’t like the idea of Matt getting the better of me like he did last time.” 

                “There’s that, too. But mostly because it’s Matt and I don’t want you to come back with some other guy’s teeth on you again. Or within ten feet of you. Or within the same city as you.”

                “I think the city-thing is a bit far, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

                He kisses his cheek again. “I’m serious though. I don’t want Matt anywhere near you. Keep your door locked and your phone next to you. Fuck, I’m going to be paranoid the entire time you’re gone.”

                “I’m staying until Wednesday. He has to leave Friday-night to make his flight.” 

                “Fuck, I’m going to be paranoid the entire time you’re gone.”

                Dave laughs gently and pulls the blanket-sheet closer. Dirk fixes him there. “Imagine what Roxy would say if she knew about this conversation.”

                “I don’t want to think of my mother in conjunction with my asshole-of-a-brother who raped me for almost eight years of my life.”

                Dirk’s reply is hardly a whisper two minutes later. “At least you admit it.”

                Dave smiles slightly as he kisses his forehead. “Y’know… I never would have thought of it that way until you came along. So… whatever. Thanks. I guess. Words. Ignore me, I’m spouting nonsense.”

                “Dave?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Shut up and kiss me.” 

                “I can do that.”

\-----

                Thursday morning comes too early for both of them. Somehow, Matt decides not to go check up on him at work during the days he is avoiding him, but that just makes Dave all the more nervous. Dirk offers to drive him home, but he shakes his head, explaining that he thinks he needs to walk home in order to breathe and calm completely. He figures out, ten minutes later, that Dirk is even more nervous than he is and will probably be getting drunk in order to be able to stay away. Dave finds this endearing and proceeds to spend the next five minutes with his tongue shoved down the other’s throat. Eventually, they hesitantly pull away and Dave leaves.

                The walk home isn’t something to remember. His mind wanders as his feet take the walkway and often has to remind himself to focus on breathing. When he gets back, Marissa sweeps him into her arms, spins him around and kisses his cheek. He chuckles and makes a half-hearted joke before Matt pulls him under his arm and digs his knuckles into his scalp in a noogie.

                Matt has changed a lot. His once-brown hair has been dyed to an inky black, his brown eyes have darkened and his skin is tanned so dark that it appears to be almost-burnt-black. His neck is hunched slightly from long nights of studying and he is dressed oddly. He wears black, skin-tight pants and a neon-yellow shirt that looks like some sort of police-tape crime scene. On the inside of his wrist, white lines have been tattooed in that look almost like a barcode.

                They sit down to dinner almost immediately after he releases him from the noogie and they sit down to lasagna. Dave explains his cover-story about working early all week so that they could get ready for the upcoming MusicCon, which Aranea has asked Vriska and he to attend (which isn’t completely a lie, it’s just that he already declined since there aren’t supposed to be any good mixers but he’s given Vriska eighty bucks to buy him some good records—good, not bad, and he will pay her if he likes them). They nod along and agree.

                “So, Davey,” Matt chuckles as he looks up from the food, “mom tells me you have a girlfriend now.”

                “Something like that.”

                “How old is she?”

                “Matt!” Robert snaps. He smooths back a lock of his grey hair indignantly. “Have I taught you nothing? Age is not what you’re supposed to ask about first! It’s her _name_ you have to ask for.”

                “Fine. _Dave_ , what’s your girlfriend’s name?” 

                “ _His_ name is Dirk.”

                The silence is awesome as he takes another bite. His mom looks ready to be sick, Robert looks confused and Matt just looks giddy. He’s prepared to laugh as he looks at all of them, but manages to quell it long enough to swallow, look at them blankly and say “what?” 

                “W-Well, ho-honey, you never said you were g- _gay_ ,” she explains as she wrings her fingers together. “A-are you sure? I- I mean, a-after what happened wh-when you were fourteen—“

                “What happened when I was fourteen has nothing to do with this, maw.” 

                “B-but honey, if you’re gay, that means you-“

                “No it doesn’t. It just means I prefer men. What’s the big deal with that, honestly? It’s not like your Bible is even against it, so what’s the hubbub for? Just because a bunch of modern-day bigots are against it doesn’t mean that I can’t follow my heart, right?”

                “N-no, of course not, h-honey, b-but are you sure this is what you want? Th-this isn’t some form of t-teenage rebellion, r-right?” 

                “Even before you adopted me,” he replies, emphasizing the A-word, “I’ve liked men more.”

                “You weren’t even in _puberty_ when we adopted you. How can you be so sure?”

                “Because I have six brothers and five sisters and I still found myself more interested in the men than I did the women. Wait… that sounds weird…. You know what I mean.”

                “But, honey….” 

                “No buts about it, mom. I just like men more. I’m not saying I’m full-out, hardcore gay, I’m just more homosexual than I am heterosexual. I guess that means I’m Bi, but really, what’s the big deal all about?” 

                “Well, in the Bible, it says ‘man shalt not lay with man as one does a woman. It is an abomination’. It’s in Levaticus. Eighteen-twenty-two, I think, but I’m not sure, here, let me go look.”

                “It’s not talking about _sex_ , mom. It’s talking about roles in society. Women were lesser than men back then. So to put a man on the same level as a woman was an abomination. In fact—if you really want to go there—if we were to follow the Bible the way _you_ understand it, this conversation wouldn’t even be _happening_ because women couldn’t question men, regardless of whether or not they were their children.”

                “Steven,” Robert snaps. “That’s enough of that. We understand that you do not believe in Christianity the same way that we do and we accept that, but that is no excuse for you to be attacking her with it.”

                “I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “M’not holdin’ it against you or anythin’, it’s just that, well, that’s how it would be.”

                “That’s enough of that talk.”

                “But-“

                “I believe dinner-time is over. Why don’t you both go to your rooms?”

                “Fine, whatever,” he shrugs and leaves the table. He flops down on his bed and smirks as he pulls out his phone, opening up Pesterchum to see that Dirk has already messaged him a few times, asking him how it’s going.

                There’s a knock on the door as he gets halfway through his reply that everything is “fine” and “it’s a ball now that mom knows I’m bi.” He calls that it’s open and Matt smirks as he walks in, locking the door behind him.

                “So, you’re gay.”

                “Bi.” 

                “Whatever, you still like having cocks in your ass.”

                “That’s not what being ‘gay’ means, dipshit.”

                He tsks his tongue and kneels over him on the bed, using one hand on his chest to press him down. He stays down, completely comfortable in his own skin and his ability to punch him off. Matt chuckles as he realizes that he isn’t going to fight him off. He dips his head and speaks into his ear. “So, Davey, did you just go and find a replacement for me? Really, you didn’t have to. I would come down and fuck you any time you wanted me to. I’m _only_ in Oklahoma. You don’t need to go and use someone just to get your kicks.”

                “Don’t think so highly of yourself, Matt,” he growls. “I’m dating Dirk because I’m actually interested in him. Not because I’m lonely or any of that. Get off of me.”

                “Oh, lookey here, lil’ bro finally grew a pair.” Dave carefully keeps his face straight as Matt pushes his shirt up. His knuckles turn grey in the bedsheets, blue at the tips, and it takes everything he has not to turn his head back and let him have his way. Dirk’s name becomes a mantra in his head. He can’t stop reminding himself of him as Matt undoes his buckle and yanks his shorts down. He teases at the elastic with two fingers. Dave’s teeth sink into his lip and he breathes slowly, trying to keep his wits about him.

                Matt’s hand presses against his length through his pants. He whimpers under him as Matt leans down and licks at his collarbone. The older man chuckles as he shudders and rolls his head away to keep from looking. His hips pump into his hand instinctively. “That’s what I thought.” Matt hisses before he bites down. Dave chokes on his own tongue.

                Matt’s fingers dip into his boxers and run along the underside of his cock. He twitches pitifully and whimpers again, sealing his eyes shut until the lids turn white. His fingers leave his length and instead run down, pressing into the ring of muscle. “Heh,” he laughs over him, leaving a trail of spit on the side of his neck. “You’re so tight compared to January. Has he not touched you? He must think that you’re disgusting. Letting me do this to you so readily-“

                His fist soars through the air and knocks Matt off of him before he realizes what he’s doing. He scoots up the bed as the other checks the blood from his nose. “Fuck you, Dave,” he growls, glaring at him. He moves like a panther, shifting until he’s ready to strike, silent and unknowing until so. “That was _fucking uncalled for_.”

                “I have a boyfriend,” he snaps back. “I’m _loyal_ to him. Don’t fuck around with me, Matt.” 

                “Whatever,” he growls. “You fuckin’ broke my nose.”

                “You’ve left me with worse over the years.”

                Matt flips him off and leaves. The door doesn’t slam, but the one to the bathroom does. He waits, counting the seconds until the bathroom door closes and the one to Matt’s bedroom does, too. Dave shifts on his bed, swings his feet down and breathes. He looks at his hands. He’s shaking. He can’t even make out the letters on Pesterchum as he picks his phone up, goes to the bathroom and pulls his shirt off. He can still feel Matt on top of him, his hand broad on his sternum, warm on his dick and cold inside the “lip” of his ass. He bites his lip and splashes his face with water, demanding his mind to remain on _Dirk_ until he calmed.

                He takes a picture of the bruise on his collar and washes his neck free before he returns to his room, locking it behind him.

 

TT: Dave?   
TT: Dave?   
TT: Dave?   
TT: Dave?   
TT: Seriously, Dave. At least give me a status report. I’m losing my mind here.   
GH: --godHead has sent a picture file—   
GH: relatively unmolested   
TT: You’re not helping me here.   
GH:  nothing else just the one bite   
GH: didnt even get inside of me   
GH: i swear   
TT: I’m still worried though.   
GH: dirk   
GH: do me a favor   
TT: What?   
GH: just fucking call me im losing my mind

 

                Within seconds of sending the message, Dirk’s number is ringing on his Caller ID—or, he thinks it’s his number, he isn’t sure, his hands are shaking so much that he can’t read it. “He-Hello?”

                “Dave?”

                “S’me, Dirk,” he sighs as he lays back and fists his other hand lightly, resting it on his forehead. “Holy fuck, it’s me.”

                “You sound worse than I feel.” 

                “Prolly, yeah.” He nods blankly and yanks his blanket over him until he is curled in a ball beneath it. “Feel pretty shaken.”

                “S’wrong? How much did he do?”

                “Just pressed me down, did that to my neck and a bunch of molestation. Metronome says it was only two minutes, but it feels like hours.” 

                “Nothing else?”

                “No.” 

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yes.”

                “Positive?” 

                “Dirk, I know you’re antsy, I am too, but _yes_ , I am one-hundred percent positive.” 

                “Ok…. Are you-“

                “I swear to God if you say ‘sure’….” 

                “I was going to say ‘hurt’.”

                “Then, no. No I’m not hurt. Other than the bruise. Which feels gross. Just shaken.”

                “I wish you were here.”

                “I know.” He takes in and lets out another shaky sigh. “Holy fuck, I’m shaking really badly.”

                “You sound pretty bad.”

                “Uhhuh.” 

                “Why are you freaking out?”

                “I just broke Matt’s nose, Dirk.”

                “Is your door locked?”

                “Yes.”

                “Get undressed and ready for bed.”

                “I’m just going to sleep in my clothes tonight, thanks.” 

                “Then change into something more comfortable than your jeans.”

                “How you know that is beyond me.” 

                “Dave.”

                “Ok, ok, I’m changing…. Done. Happy?”

                “Yes. Now lay down.”

                “Why are you having me do this all?”

                “Because I’m going to talk to you until you fall asleep.”

                Dave is silent for a moment before he sighs contentedly and hugs his pillow closer. “Did you know that it takes forty-two muscles to say the word ‘fuck’?”

                “Well, fuck. It’s a good thing I’m getting my exercise.”

                Dave laughs gently. “Yeah….”

                “When I was a kid, I used to sneak out of the house with Nepeta and we would get ice cream or just get our asses kicked in random scuffles.”

                He laughs again. “Really?”

                “Yeah. Nepeta was a better fighter for years….”

                Dave snorts and shifts again.

\-----

                Matt leaves the next day while he is at work. Dave goes to Dirk’s house and is content to bury himself in his arms. Dirk seems to agree, even as he leans over and nibbles at the bruise on his collarbone. 


	17. Chapter 17

CG: DUDE  
CG: CHECK THIS SHIT OUT  
CG: [carcinoGeneticist has sent an e-mail link]

 

                Dave shrugs to himself and opens it. A customer walks in and he greets them. He nods his head and goes to browse the Blues section of the Long-Plays. He starts reading it, making sure to glance up and check on him regularly.

 

                _Preliminary Rounds with commence in the following cities and surrounding suburbs on May 1 st:_

  * _Boston, New York_
  * _Buckeye, Ohio_
  * _Seattle, Washington_
  * _Miami, Florida_
  * _San Francisco, California_
  * _San Diego, California_



_Preliminary Rounds will commence in the following cities and surrounding suburbs April 30 th:_

  * _Phoenix, Arizona_
  * _Maui, Hawaii_
  * _New York, New York_
  * _Santa Barbara, California_
  * _Austin, Texas_
  * _Wichita, Kansas_



_Preliminary Rounds will commence in the following cities and surrounding suburbs April 21 st: _

  * _Boise, Idaho_
  * _Oklahoma City, Oklahoma_
  * _Buckeye, Arizona_
  * _Fargo, North Dakota_
  * _Norway, Maine_
  * _Washington DC_



_Preliminary Rounds will commence in the following cities and surrounding suburbs April 13 th:_

  * _Houston, Texas_
  * _Sunshine Valley, California_
  * _Reno, Nevada_
  * _Las Vegas, Nevada_
  * _New Orleans, Louisiana_
  * _Louisville, Kentucky_



_Preliminaries will commence as such:_

_1._ _All team leaders—those whose name was submitted as the first location are hence-forth considered to be leaders, position available for change upon Secondary Rounds—will hence-forth receive a text determining the Team Number and the cell number of the leader of the opposite team._

_2._ _Each Team Leader shall determine the amount of fighers offered up for the given fight.*_

_3._ _The location of the fights shall be made available to the fighters._

_4._ _Upon the end of the fight, the winner shall be determined from the wreckage and the team leader shall text “win” or “lose” to SBurb Arena’s number._

_5._ _All fighters must have fought by the seven-day mark or that team will be disqualified._ We will know _._

_* All fights shall not exceed 30 minutes. Alliances may be formed between teams temporaily with the following code sent by both team leaders:_

_Approving Team: [Your Team Number]  
Deproving Team: [Their Team Number]  
_ _Application: Alliance_

_To request a Team Fight, the following code is to be submitted:_

_Approving Team: [Your Team Number]  
Deproving Team: [Their Team Number]  
_ _Application: Strife_

_All requests shall be returned with either an “approved” or “denied” action. No fights shall be an exception. Any disagreement shall result in a team’s immediate disqualification._

_Upon a team’s disqualification, all members of said team shall be culled. Any deaths resultant of Preliminary Rounds shall be handled by Sburb Arena and shall not have the blame placed upon the winner by any means._

_The following information pertains to Team Leaders and Team Leaders alone:_

                Dave looks up briefly enough to check on the man and greet a bunch of emo high school punks as they enter. They roll their eyes, so he flips them off behind the desk.

 

_1._ _Team Leaders shall be the only ones to contact SBurb Arena. Upon the dissolution of this rule, your team shall me disqualified._

_2._ _Your phone must be constantly on. A fight may occur at all hours of the day, including midnight._

_3._ _Your are responsible for arming your team. All strife specibi are able to change until Secondary Rounds. An unlimited number of specibi are allowed, but breaking out of labeled specibi results in immediate disqualification. This includes: FistKind, FootKind, etc._

_4._ _Hospitalization bills shall be taken care of by SBurb Arena given that the following algorithm is submitted:_

_Approving Team: [Your Team Number]  
_ _[Name of Team Member]  
_ _Application: Hospitalization_

_5._ _At any time a team or a team member may pull themselves from the running. Willingful withdrawal will not end in punishments reserved for forceful removals (culling)._

_6._ _Team Leaders may not be exchanged until Secondary Rounds, unless by death. The result shall be forced disqualification._

_7._ _All questions may be forwarded to the following number: -----_

Dave looks up and smirks as one of the kids slips a Justin Bieber CD into the mix of his 3OH!3, Maroon 5 and Bon Jovi set. He checks out first, looking guilty about it. Dave is cool enough not to mention it to the others as he rings them up, too.

 

                _The following information pertains to all participating fighters:_

_1._ _No fight shall exceed 30 minutes. If a contestant is to attack the other after time has been called, they shall be disqualified. If all team members are disqualified, the team is forcibly disqualified._

_2._ _There is to be no fighting outside of time constraints. Any teams found to break this rule will be disqualified._

__ He greets Dirk as he enters. The man smiles briefly before going to flip through some of the Short-Plays. He hums and asks if he’s seen the one in the third row, sixth slot and fourth one from the back. “Couldn’t just show it to me?” Dave chuckles briefly and shakes his head. Dirk pulls it out, examining it for a while. He moves onto the slot above it and Dave takes the moment to appreciate how well-formed his ass is in those jeans. Damn. That is one plush rump.

 

_3._ _Killing is encouraged. All deaths will be covered for by having the Team Leader submit the following:_

_Approving Team: [Your Team Number]  
_ _Deproving Team: [Their Team Number]  
_ _[Amount of Dead]  
_ _[Location of Dead]_

_It is the responsibility of the winning team to send the message. If all combatants are to die in the process, it is the responsibility of either Team Leader to contact SBurb Arena. If the Team Leader is to die, then the other team is responsible for reporting. If either Team Leader dies, leadership passes down from First Location upon sign up to the next filled space. If leadership is passed, the following is to be submitted by the new leader with the number attained from the previous leader’s phone:_

_Approving Team: [Your Team Number]  
_ _Deproving Team: [Their Team Number]  
_ _Actuating Leader: [Your Submitted Name]_

 

                Dirk eventually makes his way over with two Short-Plays, one of which is the one he advised him to get and a cassette. They make the purchase and Dirk glances around. “I forgot you’re working afternoons this week.”

                He shrugs. “Actually, I’m covering for Vriska, but I work afternoons for the rest-of-the-week. How are the classes so far?”

                “Fine. Slow. What’re you readin’?”

                “An e-mail Keven sent me.”

                “He wasn’t in class today.”

                “No?”

                “Nah.”

                “Weird. He never stops talkin’ ‘bout it when we spar.”

                “How do you fight with those tiny-ass blades?”

                “His parents won’t let him have swords, so he has scythes. Plus, they’re easier to throw and I don’t have to abide by the Swordsman’s Law, though we both end up doing that anyway. Not that it really matters. Kanaya would kill us if we attacked each other’s backs. Or mom. I don’t want to be on the other end of their weapons. That’s...” He shakes his head because the word “scary” doesn’t even _begin_ to describe it.

                Dirk chuckles. “How long have you two been fighting? Keven would probably be in a higher class if his parents would let him. He’s far too advanced for where he is now.”

                “As long as I can remember. Trolls, idiot.”

                “I _meant_ with each other.”

                “Same deal. We tend not to get along often.”

                “I noticed.”

                Dave smirks and shrugs, chuckling. “Can I come over tomorrow night?”

                “Yeah, sure. I have a gig in the afternoon, so I won’t get home ‘til ‘bout ten-thirty if I’m lucky.”

                “Ok.” He shrugs. Dirk says goodbye and goes to get to the dojo before his next class.

 

_4._ _There are currently over one-hundred teams. Only one will win. Numerous opportunities will be laid before you to make deals. Lie, cheat and steal. These are requir_

_\--THE MESSAGE IS TOO LONG TO FINISH LOADING. PLEASE FIND A SUITABLE COMPUTER TO FINISH READING—_

godHead [GH] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

GH: at work  
GH: is there anything important after it tells us to lie cheat and steal?  
CG: NOT REALLY  
CG: MOSTLY JUST THAT NO TEAM HAS BEEN KNOWN TO WIN WITHOUT DOING SO  
GH: do i need to read it?  
CG: YOU READ THE OTHER RULES?  
CG: THEN NO  
GH: dirk said you werent in class today  
GH: where are you  
CG: IM WITH TEREZI SETTING UP A PRACTICE FIELD WELL SEND YOU GUYS THE LOCATION WHEN WERE DONE THINK YOU CAN MAKE IT BY FIVE  
GH: depends on how far it is bro  
GH: maybe six  
CG: OK  
CG: MOM WONT BE HERE SO DON’T RUSH TO GET HERE IN HOPES TO SEE HER SHE HAS CLASS AND EVIDENTLY HER GIRLFRIEND’S SON IS IN TOWN SO THEY HAVE TO TALK  
GH: i thought she had a daughter  
CG: ME TOO  
GH: ok google-maps link it to me when its done  
GH: ill get there eventually  
CG: WILL DO

 

                Dave leaves work on-time, only to meet up with Kanaya, who borrowed her mother’s car, and catches a ride along with Tavros and Gamzee.

                The place they set up is a few miles out of the suburbs, far enough away so they are in the forest but still relatively close to the actual city. Some of it had been blocked off so that multiple groups could fight, but Dave doubts that’s what they actually are for. Part of it is blocked off and built up so that there’s some sort of a river running pass it. Terezi waves as they arrive and bounces over to hug him. He hugs her back and sends her off to hug the others. Karkat eventually motions him over, so he shrugs and complies.

                “So, whose team leader?” Dave asks.

                “I am. As far as I can remember, it’s me, then you, Kanaya, Terezi and Gamzee after that, but I don’t remember anything other than that. There’s an attachment to the second e-mail. I didn’t send it to you. I think that it’ll say the exact order. All I read is that we’re Team Six-Twelve, whatever that means. I thought there were only a-hundred and eleven, but whatever.”

                “Ok, so we’re team Six-Twelve and we start fighting on Four-thirteen but there are only one hundred and eleven teams.”

                “Yeah, why?”

                “I dunno. Just confirming facts.”

                Karkat shrugs back and calls the others forward. He explains about how they don’t have long before the fighting starts and how they have to make sure that everyone is ready and prepared to go through with this. It may mean missing school (or work, he adds with a glare at Dave) or going to the hospital or even sleep deprivation, but it’ll be worth it if they get to secondary rounds. The others nod and agree, including Tavros, who has a long scar on the side of his arm from when he and Karkat had been training.

                “I guess we’ll start with people who think they really need to train.”

                “I’ll go!” Terezi raises her arm. “But I want to fight someone long-range, just to see if I’ve got it down.”

                “Sure,” Eridan shrugs. “You ow-we me though.”

                “Why’d you stutter?”

                “Shuddup, I just w-woke up. Fuck I did it again. Fuck you, that’s not funny!” Terezi laughs anyway and they move apart to give them room to fight. Terezi pulls on a pair of sunglasses (rose-colored and overly girly, Dave thinks) while she holds her cane at the ready. Eridan pulls out his pistol and aims. Terezi makes the first move. The jaw of the dragon head drops open and a large, white ball shoots out of it. Eridan narrowly dodges. The bullet from his gun lodges in the tree over Dave’s shoulder.

                The cane shoots again. Dave barrel rolls out of the way to avoid the wide-shot. Equius looks confused and the others look angry that she is shooting everywhere. Wildly.

                Tic _tic_ tic _tic_

                _We didn’t account for the backpressure._

Terezi struggles to aim in front of her and press the button again. Eridan ducks behind a tree.

                Tic _tic_ tic

                _It blew up on her_.

                She growls and brings both hands forward, struggling to hold on.

                Tic _tic_

                _She went blind._

 _Tic_.

                Dave rushes forward. He doesn’t hear the metronome. All he hears is blood in his veins as he runs. He hears the whistle of the cane. He hears the grunt of pain from Terezi. He feels the burning metal under his hand as he throws it away and knocks her down. She cries out as they hit the ground. He forces her face into his chest as the reflection of the explosion bounces off of the grass.

                Tic.

                Time rushes back to him and he gasps as he rolls off of her, forcing himself to remember how to breathe. Terezi sits up beside him, her chest heaving as well.

                Aradia drops to her knees in front of him and wraps her arms around his neck. He clings to her. “He visited you, too,” she whispers.

                Nothing makes sense anymore.

                He pushes her away and turns to Terezi. The woman looks scared, unsure of something. His breathing stutters out as he takes her face in his hands and pushes her glasses away. One eye is red, blood dripping out of the corner, but the other is swollen around the tear duct. She blinks and blinks again and again before she coughs. Soot smears on the side of her mouth as she does so. He vaguely realizes that Karkat is on his knees beside them, muttering incoherently.

                “Terezi.”

                “D-Dave? Is that you?”

                “Can you see me?”

                “N-no.”

                “Oh, God, what do we do?” Karkat mutters. “What do we do? What do we do? Terezi, oh God.”

                “Water, from the stream. Karkat, go. Use this water bottle. Vriska!” Aradia calls. He nods and rushes away as the woman runs to them. The two of them lay her down. He and Vriska press down one on each shoulder and Aradia cradles her head in her lap, carefully keeping her eyes open with her fingers. Karkat returns and, upon instruction, flushes her eyes out with the water he has gathered. She thrashes, but Aradia is careful to keep her steady. Black soot dribbles out of the inflamed eye and blood out of the other, but they hold her as still as possible until both run clear.

                She rolls over and curls her head on Karkat’s head as soon as they release her. The man lets out a sigh of relief and wraps his arms around her as she shakes lightly. Dave meets Aradia’s eyes before she smiles shakily. He nods back, unsure of what else to do, and Terezi pulls away. She stares Karkat right in the eye.

                He figures everything is going to be ok then.

                _A green flash before them, the ticking of a bomb waiting to explode, the look in frightened purple eyes staring back through his glasses as his sister cries for the first time since infancy._

Dave shakes his head and presses his knuckles into his forehead. Terezi turns around and stares at him before she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him close. He hugs her back and lets out a sigh of relief. She giggles and nods, leans back, looks him in the eye as best she can and whispers “thanks for saving me.”

                “We’re going to have to rebuild that.”

                “Yeah-huh. Ok. Whatever.”

                She returns to Karkat’s arms. He and Aradia meet eyes again.

                _They deserve happiness in this life,_ he thinks. He knows she will agree. After what they went through last time, she would be hard-pressed not to agree. The only problem is: _he doesn’t know what they went through or even what “last time” is._

Aradia offers a much better smile. He stands and goes to Equius to start building new diagrams. They have to start soon anyway.

\-----

                Dirk hums as he walks in to find him with the papers spread wide over the coffee table. He looks up briefly, still muttering under his breath as he nods his head toward the microwave. Dirk nods and goes in, grabs the bowl of food and returns to sit beside him. He glances over the papers. “Whatever this is would blow back on you.”

                “Yeah. I know. Fuckin’ scare of the God damn week.”

                “And you’re using the same equations that let it blow up?”

                “I can’t figure out any other way.”

                He laughs through his nose, takes a bite and swallows it. “I’m guessing you’ve only taken run-of-the-mill, high school-level engineering classes.”

                “ _Actually_ I am currently majoring in engineering at this very moment, y’know, right now as I take my college classes between work hours.”

                “Sarcasm wasn’t necessary.”

                “It’s _always_ necessary.”

                Dirk laughs and wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in to kiss his temple. Dave lets him, smothering the small smile he wants to show as he focuses on making the pencil move. “Break the rules.”

                “Rules?”

                “In high school classes you’re taught certain rules to keep you safe. But you’re a smart kid. You’ll be able to hold onto it while you’re making it. Here,” he pulls a newer page out and takes the pencil from his hand. “That the diagram over there?”

                “Yeah, why?”

                “Looks pretty kick-ass.”

                “It would be if it didn’t explode after three shots.”

                “Try this.” He scribbles out a lopsided equation with his left hand, barely able to keep it readable. Dave gives him a bad look, rewrites it and waits to make sure that it’s right. He nods and returns to eating. Dave continues on doing the work.

                He’s only partially pissed off that it works.

                He sends the original equation to Equius over PesterChum and he spends the next three hours first watching a movie he hadn’t seen and then redubbing it afterward. Dirk eventually pulls him to sit on his lap, which earns him a half-hearted punch to the shoulder. He keeps his head tucked under his chin so that Dirk can’t see him. Dirk doesn’t make a huge uproar about trying to see him again, but he does tilt his head up and kiss him at the most inopportune times—like when someone is getting their head chopped off. Dirk has awkward, unusual taste in what is “romantic”, but Dave refuses to complain.

                They end up lying back on the futon to sleep and Dave smiles to himself as he hears Dirk’s heartbeat slow to match the metronome.

                “Was that explosion the sound that fuckin’ everyone heard earlier? Around six-thirty.”

                “Probably.”

                “For a moment there, it felt like time had slowed.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Like someone with an unusually well-worked aptitude for time slowed it down to prevent something from happening.”

                “Are you accusing me of something?”

                “Is there something to accuse you of?”

                “Not that I know of.”

                “Y’know that metronome you were talkin’ about?”

                “Duh.”

                “Y’ever try to reach out and just… hold it still, if only for a moment?”

                “No, that’s ridiculous.”

                “Is it?”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “After everything that has happened today and ever since you were born, is the thought of slowing Time down so easily really _that_ ridiculous.”

                “What do you know that I don’t?”

                “Just that not everything is as stupid as it seems. Ignore me. I’m just that stupid-ass guy in the background watching everything happen. For as far as we know, the only reason I think that is because some other personality of mine thinks that it’s possible.”

                “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’re schizophrenic.”

                “Barely, but I guess it is.”

                “Dirk, do me one more favor.”

                “What?”

                “Shut the fuck up and let me sleep. I’m comfortable.”

                “Is Marissa ok with you stayin’?”

                “Fuck her. Wait. Fuck logic, I don’t care. Besides, I don’t think she really cares either. She’s been layin’ off since she found out I’m bi.”

                “Define ‘layin’ off’.”

                “She’s a bigot. Doesn’t like the idea of me bein’ with another guy. But instead of going the normal route an’ tellin’ me, she’s just been pushin’ herself away so she doesn’t have to deal with it.”

                “Uhhuh.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “Nothin’. Just go to sleep.”

                “Uhhuh.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “Nothin’. Just go to sleep.”

                They laugh at each other as they push at each other’s shoulders. They end up somehow moving around so that Dave is pinned between the couch and his body. He doesn’t think he’ll have it any other way. He kisses Dirk’s neck and pretends that it didn’t happen when asked about it.


	18. Chapter 18

                April 13th comes much too fast. Dave surprises himself at two-thirty that afternoon when he looks up from clocking out to see that The Date has already come. He checks his phone to make sure that Karkat hasn’t messaged him anything. He hasn’t. Dave shrugs to himself and pulls at his shirt to get it unstuck from his chest (the air conditioner is broken and Texas Heat has hit early this year, but he isn’t surprised either way) as he begins to skateboard home.

                He’s three steps out of the door when he gets the messages.

 

CG: TEAM 023  
CG: YOU AND ARADIA  
CG: FIGHT ENDS @ 325 SO IT STARTS 5 TILL 3  
CG: carcinoGeneticist [CG] has shared a google maps link  
GH: got it

 

                He calls Aradia shortly after he turns his skateboard around. She sounds congested and not-at-all up for fighting. She complains about her head almost instantly. “S-sorry,” she adds afterward. “M’just really sick, tha’s’all. Two-on-two fight, I’m guessing. D’you think you can handle it?”

                “Course I can,” he replies. “But I think you have to show anyway.”

                “I will,” she grumbles and blows her nose.

                “This sounds like a pretty bad cold.”

                “It is.”

                “If the other two realize it, you’ll be a sitting target.”

                “I can fight! I’ll just be… slow in retaliating. We could always, y’know… wait a moment.” He hums and listens as she calls to her mom that she’ll be right back. It’s returned with her asking if she’s well enough to leave and Aradia says she just needs some fresh air, she thinks. She coughs something up as she returns to the call. “We could always get them disqualified.”

                “What d’ya mean?”

                “Well, in the rules it doesn’t say that we _have_ to fight each time, just that we can’t fight outside of time restraints. Well, what’s better than to have two people very well endowed in that Time-aspect manipulate the other two into breaking the rules and therefore getting them disqualified?”

                “Aradia you sly dog. There’s one problem with that though.”

                “What?”

                “I actually want to fight.”

                “Do this for me, Dave. I’m a weak link and it’s too late to get Karkat to redo it. He’s probably jumped the gun and already submitted the fight acceptance or whatever it is.” She coughs again and he winces to himself at the sound. “Ow. That one hurt.”

                “Sounded like it. Ok. Fine. I’ll….” He sighs. “I’ll lay off. This time only. You owe me.”

                “Of course. Now, what could my darling, shining knight in silver armor want? Hmm?”

                “You could clean my room. Be a maid. Y’know, that kind’ah stuff.”

                “I’m not cleaning your room.”

                “I wasn’t expectin’ you to. Just don’t hold back next time we’re paired to fight, ok?”

                “ _D’accord_.”

                “I have no idea what that means.”

                “Of course.”

                “No, wait, what does that mean?”

                “Are you kidding or are you serious?”

                “I’m guessin’ it’s German for ‘of course’.”

                “French, but yes.”

                “Semantics. What time do you have?”

                “Ah, ten-till. Where are you?” She sneezes. He gives her a “gesundheit” with a horrible accent. “I’m here. Oh, God, my head hurts.”

                “I’m rounding the corner. I see you now. Hanging up.”

                “Ok.”

                He pockets his phone and approaches her. She smiles warily and hugs him briefly before stepping away to sneeze into the tissue in her hand. Her eyes are inflamed, her lips look dry, she’s breathing through her mouth, her hair is stringy from sweat and there is an overall green look to her heated skin. He offers a half-smile and pats her shoulder. She groans into the tissue and mutters something like “thanks for not patting my head.” He pretends like he doesn’t hear as, at that very moment, two others round the corner and enter the alley. “Six-Twelve?” The one on the left asks.

                “Twenty-three?” He offers back. They nod and Aradia mutters that it’s already three o’clock and that the fight started, technically, five minutes ago. Dave pulls free two of his Balinsongs and she activates her staff, holding it at the ready. She coughs into the tissue again and the two on the other side of the alley look at each other and whisper. She nudges his leg with the flat part of the blade.

                “I don’t want to fight them,” Dave decides as he looks at her. “They’re just kids.”

                “S’re you,” she replies.

                “Yeah, but I’m not some weakling doing this for _fun_. Well, I am doin’ it for fun, but you know what I mean.”

                “Seriously, Knight?” She grunts and coughs again. The two kids on the other side of the alley growl and launch themselves at him. His knee meets their gut, one at a time, and they fall down, holding their stomachs in pain.

                “Like I said; kids.”

                “Uh-huh…” she blinks and sniffles again, pulling a bad look as she rubs at her eye. “How much longer do we have to fight?”

                “Twenty-three minutes.”

                “God damn it.”

                Dave kicks at the kids and they roll away. By the time they stand again, they have eighteen minutes to fight. They really are just kids, though. Probably no older than thirteen and neither of them have real weapons—just their fists. They look like their hopes have been crushed because suddenly they have to take some sort of game seriously. Dave feels empathetic towards them, like he has lived through the same, but he doesn’t know why. Feelings are, after all, feelings. Nothing really needs a good reason behind a feeling.

                ( Except that Dave suddenly feels extremely hot and like everyone is relying on him. He’s not a hero, he knows he’s not, his bro and his friend are, but he doesn’t know who those two are because Matt—Matt could never be a hero, he’s not even an anti-hero or a Byronic hero. And then his friend? He doesn’t have many of them, but the only one with buckteeth and a weird laugh he can think of is John but, ha, what a joke that is! Why would John ever need to be a _hero_? )

                Dave sighs and shrugs, flips shut his knives and pushes them into his pockets so that they aren’t in the way. Aradia follows his lead, pressing the button on the staff so that it collapses in a feat of marvelous engineering that was only- _slightly_ Equius’ idea. She drops it in her pocket and turns to hide behind his back as she coughs again. He shifts again to defend them.

                The kids rush at them again. He punches one in the eye and trips the other. Aradia mutters eighteen minutes. He wonders where the time has gone until he realizes that the tic of the metronome has sped up. He glances back at her—to make sure she’s fine, he tells himself, not because there’s something in his gut telling him that it’s _her fault;_ no one can manipulate time, he’s going crazy, of course he is! The kids roll away and struggle to stand. They take up poorly trained stances and growl at him. Six minutes. He gives her a bad look and she smiles the best she can. It takes six minutes for the kids to cross the meter between them. He braces for the punches and smirks as they fall back, shaking their hands in pain.

                “Did you two even _read_ the rules?” Aradia scolds. “You’re disqualified!”

                “Wh-what?”

                “You two landed hits after the half-hour mark,” he supplies. He takes out his phone, disregarding the watch he got for his fifteenth, and shows them the clock. 3:26. “Your entire team is disqualified. Let’s go, _Maid_. By the way, you are _so_ cleaning my room.”

                “Bullshit! I’m not going anywhere near that pigsty!”

                He doesn’t point out that it’s probably the cleanest room in the entire house. It’s not really all that necessary since he isn’t going to let her anywhere near it anyway. He lays the skateboard down for her to step on, which she does, and he takes her hand, pulling her away. Half a street away from the alley, she asks to stop. He waits as she sits down and takes his hand again.

                “Where are you takin’ me?”

                “To the Urgent Care. You seriously need some medication. This thing has knocked you on your ass. I’ll pay for the pills.”

                “What? No! You really don’t need to do that!”

                “Do you have medication you’re takin’ now?”

                “Just cough syrup,” she admits after a minute of silence.

                “That’s what I thought. You need some sort of anti-whatevers.”

                “Antibiotics.”

                “You sure you’re a maid? Because that’s something only a doctor would know.” She punches the back of his calf. “Ow! Here I am kindly dragging you to the Urgent Care out of the good of my heart and you’re attacking me. I see where I stand in this relationship. Well then.”

                “Um… thanks.” She whispers. He pretends to not hear. She pretends she never said it in the first place.

                He waits in the Waiting Room as she is checked over by the on-hand doctor. He pulls out his phone and flicks through it a few times, pretending to be occupied, until Karkat decides to rear his ugly grey-text Pesterchum head.

 

CG: WELL?  
CG: YOU WON RIGHT?  
GH: of course we did  
CG: HOW FAR INTO THE HOSPITAL ARE YOUR OPPONENTS?  
GH: they arent  
GH: but they are disqualified  
CG: ALREADY?  
CG: ITS THE FIRST GOD DAMNED DAY AND YOU ALREADY HAVE PEOPLE FUCKING DISQUALIFIED?  
CG: FUCKING HELL MAN!   
CG: AT LEAST GIVE THEM SOME FUCKING CHANCE YOU COCKSUCKER  
GH: my sexuality has nothing to do with this  
GH: besides  
GH: they were like thirteen they shouldnt be doing this anyway  
CG: HOW BAD DID THEY END UP?  
GH: not too much  
GH: ara didnt let me fight because shes sick and we didnt want her in the crossfire  
CG: SHES SICK?  
GH: so?  
CG: I WOULDNT HAVE FUCKIN SENT HER IF I KNEW SHE WAS SICK!  
GH: shes ok bro  
GH: in the uc getting some meds   
CG: YOU SURE?  
GH: yeah  
GH: do me a fav bro  
CG: WHAT?  
GH: fuckin ask rezi out already  
CG: FUCK OFF ITS NOT LIKE THAT  
CG: ASS WIPE  
GH: we both know you wanna  
GH: just fuckin do it man  
GH: she aint going to wait for long  
CG: STOP  
CG: STOP RIGHT THERE  
CG: I SWEAR TO GOG IF YOU START ONE OF YOUR LAME ASS RAPES AGAIN  
CG: *GOD  
GH: i dont rape bro  
GH: thats too far  
CG: I MEANT RAP  
GH: sure you did bro  
GH: sure you did  
CG: IM NOT ACCUSING YOU OF RAPE DAVE  
CG: SERIOUSLY  
CG: DO YOU BELIEVE ME?  
CG: WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO MAKE IT UP TO YOU?  
CG: THIS ISNT ABOUT MATT OR ANYTHING  
GH: woah woah woah  
GH: stop  
GH: back this motherfucking train the fuck up  
GH: the fuck did you just say?  
CG: MATT  
CG: YOUR BROTHER  
CG: THE GUY THAT TAKES ADVANTAGE OF YOU  
CG: SOLLUX TOLD ME ABOUT IT  
CG: …  
CG: YOU OK?  
CG: YOU HAVENT REPLIED IN LIKE FIVE MINUTES  
GH: hold on  
GH: gotta go murder someone  
CG: WHAT?  
CG: NO MAN DON’T  
CG: HE ONLY TOLD ME BECAUSE I PRESSURED HIM TO I SWEAR  
CG: I WANTED TO KNOW WHY YOU WERE SPENDING SO MUCH TIME AT YOUR BOYFRIENDS WHILE MATT WAS IN TOWN IT TOOK ME ALMOST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS FOR SOLLUX TO TELL ME I SWEAR  
CG: DONT MURDER HIM MAN ITS NOT WORTH THE ENERGY  
GH: i was talking about you  
CG: ….  
GH: its been five minutes bro  
GH: the fuck are you doing?  
CG: IM CURRENTLY LOOKING UP HIDING LOCATIONS WHERE YOULL NEVER FIND ME  
GH: i will find you  
GH: dont doubt me  
GH: i will find you;  
CG: I  
CG: I GOTTA GO  
GH: coward

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ran away from godHead [GH] with his tail between his legs

 

                Dave clicks shut his phone as Aradia comes out with a gentle smile on her lips. She hands the prescriptions over. “Acute bronchitis,” she explains. “With nasal congestion. Um… thanks for doin’ this for me. I- I’ll pay you back.”

                “Don’t bother. It’s fine, really. Let’s get these filled so that I can take you home. Get on the skateboard.”

                She pouts and nods as he pays the Urgent Care bill and they leave. He drags her behind him on the skateboard. They make it to the nearby Kroger and fill wait for the prescriptions to get filled while he goes to the back and hands her a small eight-ounce bottle of orange juice. She gets flustered and tries to insist that he doesn’t do that, but he pushes his way through the checkout line and collects her medicine without hassle.

                She sips on the orange juice on the roll back to her house. She giggles at random times and it takes everything he has not to smile at the thought of a small red wagon on the wet streets of Seattle after long hours at a park of running around. He pulls her up to her front door and stands her up before asking which house is Karkat’s. She points down the way and hugs him around the neck before going inside. He takes up the skateboard and scoots down the sidewalk.

                Mr. Vantas is the one that answers the door. Despite not being Karkat’s blood father, the two of them look awfully alike. They have the same sharp canines and the same straw-like, choppy-in-the-back-gelled-in-the-front black hair. His eyes, though green, are also dotted with red blood vessels. He doesn’t have the blood of a Mediterranean man like Karkat does, but he does have that of an Arabian man so their skin as the same tan-ish look to it. He has the air of someone fed-up with something, which makes his almost-entirely-black attire seem all the more consuming. The only thing he is wearing that isn’t pitch-black is his belt, which is candy-apple red and has the grey sixty-nine symbol for a belt that Karkat wears around his wrist. “Who’re you?”

                “I’m one of Karkat- ah, Keven’s friends. He home?”

                “Karkat’s in there,” he answers and swings his head. “Lemme buzz him in. I think he took his aide out.”

                “Ok.”

                “C’mon in.”

                He steps inside and Mr. Vantas walks around to the back. Within a few minutes, Karkat is walking out, making quick motions with his hands. Dave recognizes them as sign language and he can make out what some of them mean, but he can’t make out enough to understand complete sentences. Karkat stops inside the hallway and all the blood runs from his face. “Shit.”

                He nods his head to him. Karkat worries his lip before he sighs and slumps his shoulders.  He turns to his father and makes a few curt motions with his fingers as he explains, “This is Dave. He’s the brother I told you about. The one that was adopted first.”

                Mr. Vantas nods and motions for them to go into the back. Dave nods and follows. His room is the third door on the left. Karkat isn’t the kind of asshole to hold it open for him. He isn’t the kind that would demand it anyway and by the time he gets inside, Karkat has already gone to his desk and is unplugging something. He sets it in his ear and winces as he turns it on.

                “Which beating resulted in that?” Dave asks.

                “Fuck if I remember,” he shrugs.

                “Turn it up a little. You’re yelling. Again.”

                “If I turn it up any it hurts too much. I’ll settle for speaking loudly.”

                “Yelling.”

                “Whatever.”

                “So… you know.”

                His cheeks heat brightly as he bites his head and nods. He awkwardly sits backward on the computer chair and hugs the back of it to his chest as a shield. Dave sits on the corner of his bed and kicks a plushie away. It has the weird Libra symbol Terezi is always wearing sewn into the chest and it’s some sort of dragon thing. Karkat picks it up and hugs it to him, not at all ashamed to be seen with it. “Y-yeah…. You really went through all of that?”

                “I don’t know what ‘that’ is.”

                “The mo-molestation and the- the rapes.”

                “Yes I did.”

                “Why?”

                “Put it this way: if I had gone back to The House after that-“

                “Don’t.” He buries his face in the plushie, hiding from him. “Don’t make it sound like it’s our fault. Please. I don’t know… I don’t know what I would do with myself.”

                “If I had gone back to The House after that-“

                “Dave, I’m serious.”

                “-I would probably have gone crazy since I had no idea what was going on at the time. Besides,” he shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean, yeah, it’s pretty fucked up and all and it’s pretty disturbing, but at the time it had felt really good and to have that connection with someone was… to have that connection with someone so soon after being ripped away from everything I knew was worth it at the time. As years have passed, I’ve realized how fucked up it is.”

                “But you haven’t stopped it.”

                “Yes I have.”

                “But Sollux said that Matt called just yesterday! Talked about how… how you two were all over each other over spring break….”

                “The fuck? No. I wasn’t even _home_ most of the time! I was with Dirk. I saw him for, maybe, one night and I broke his nose when he tried to come onto me!”

                Karkat looks up at him over the spines that make up the dragon plushie’s ears somewhat hopeful and somewhat scared. “Promise me that you’re not lying? Swear? On your life?”

                “Yes.”

                “On Nepeta’s life?”

                “ _Yes_.”

                “Ok.” He hesitantly sits up behind the plushie and frowns, staring at the ground. He takes a deep breath and turns around in the chair, relinquishing the shield, though he still hugs the dragon to his chest as he twirls around to face Dave again. “And you’re not just dating your boyfriend for-“

                “No.”

                “Ok.”

                “And now that Matt’s in college, I don’t really have to think about it much. I just… moved on. I guess. I dunno. Have you ever seen those movies where the woman is scarred for years?”

                “Yeah because that is fuckin’ _real life_ and _all sane people_ are like that.”

                “Well, I just find that I don’t need that same amount of time to get over things like that. I dunno. It doesn’t make sense. Ignore me.”

                “Can I ask one more thing before you punch me?”

                “Damn you knew. Yeah, sure.”

                “Of course I fuckin’ knew, dipshit, you’re my God damn brother _I know everything there is to know about you_. Don’t give me that look, you know it’s true. Anyway, why didn’t you go to college?”

                “Matt and I wanted to go to the same place. I didn’t want to put up with even more years of my life reacting like I did, plus I had _just_ re-met you guys not even six months before. So, I figured it would be better for me if I stayed here. Take a year off, some bull like that. I figure I’m going to go to University of Houston instead of Oklahoma. It’s closer and I want to stay with Dirk.”

                “Wait, you’re dating my swordfighting teacher?”

                “Yep.”

                “And you didn’t tell me.”

                “Nope. Why would I?”

                “Ok, just so you know, he hates the color pink.”

                “Why do you know that?”

                “Miss Lalonde played a prank on him one time. It was fuckin’ hilarious.”

                “I’m going to keep this in mind. Y’got any pink shirts I can borrow?”

                “No, why would I?”

                “You’re sissy enough to own one.”

                “Fuck you, Winslow!” Karkat launches up off the chair and knocks into his shoulders. They roll around, laughter coming from both of them (never to be admitted to by either of them) only to stop when Dave’s head cracks on the ground. He hisses out and Karkat clambers off of him. He disappears and reappears with an icepack. Dave accepts it before motioning him down. He carefully pulls the aide from his ear before he lets a punch rip. Karkat stumbles and hits the wall.

                “I deserved that.”

                He tosses the aide back and Karkat pushes it in. They don’t move for several minutes. Half an hour passes and Dave eventually sits up. Karkat moves over and brings his laptop. They sit and watch stupid videos on YouTube for no reason but to not have to make Dave leave.

                Mr. Vantas knocks at the door around seven. They look up to watch as he steps in. “You wanna stay for dinner, kid?”

                “Ah, may I?”

                He shrugs one shoulder. “Sure. I don’t care. It would be just the three of us, though. Karkat’s mom is out of town. Something about work. I don’t remember.”

                “Sure.”

                “Ok. Dinner’ll be ready in ten.”

                “Thanks, dad.” Karkat replies before returning to the laptop. The door is shut for all of three minutes before Karkat clears his throat and pauses the “Is It A Good Idea To Microwave This?” video to say “sorry that you have to meet him on one of his middle-days.”

                “Huh?”

                “He has this weird form of bi-polar disorder that’s _really_ genetic. It’s why he doesn’t want to have blood children. He doesn’t want to pass it on. This is one of those days where he’s not necessarily good or bad, so I suppose you could have met him on a worse day, but he’s usually nicer than this. He probably has a headache or something.”

                “He’s nice enough. He could be worse.”

                “Yeah? How so?”

                “He could be Matt.”

                Karkat snorts and grins before they return to watching fireworks explode. They are half way through dinner when Karkat gets a text. He looks at who it’s from before returning to eating. Immediately after dinner, he frowns and opens it up.

                “There’s another fight,” he explains. “With Team Eleven-Eleven. They’re requesting two people. Who should I send?”

                “Equius and Eridan.”

                “Why? They can’t stand each other.”

                “They’re probably the only two up for fighting right now. Besides, Equius respects Eridan for being able to put up through the pain as kids. So they’ll get along well-enough.”

                “Ok. Whatever you say, Vice-Captain.”

                “Do me a favour, Karkat.”

                “What?”

                “Never call me that again.”


	19. Chapter 19

                It’s already been three days.

                Dave looks around the group in awe. Most of the others are bruised and cut, but it appears that Karkat has fulfilled the requirement that everyone has to fight by the end of Week One already. He doesn’t know whether he should be impressed or horrified. He settles for neither. In this time, Aradia has shirked off the bronchitis-and-congestion-that-might-as-well-be-called-a-cold with beautiful grace and Nepeta still has yet to show her face.

                And Dave is going crazy. Bonkers. Nuts. Whatever the fuck it’s called, he’s going it. He’s begun to _see_ things. Weird things. Blue lines like lightning, green where they fork off into two different directions, red where they stop and an inky blackness where they just _don’t exist_. His headaches become migraines and he swears to God that he _must be_ concussed from that fall off of Karkat’s bed if this is what happened, but fuck-all if any doctor he has gone to has said that it’s not even bruised.

                Dirk insists that he’s fine.

                It takes everything he has not to freak out about it because he’s going crazy and a self-diagnosed schizophrenic is the only one who knows. He’s going crazy and it’s hard. It’s hard and no one truly understands.

                Aradia tries to understand though. Sometimes, he sees her staring off at a fork that is going straight through Terezi’s body or Karkat’s or anyone’s really, and her fingers twitch as she reaches out to touch it, but she ends up not and shakes her head violently. He hasn’t asked though yet. He hopes he doesn’t have to.

                Speaking of migraines, his head is currently pounding with one and no matter how much he tries, the sunglasses don’t help much (but they help some) and, fucking hell, he swears to God, he will personally cut Eridan in half with one of his blades—the long one, probably, and he’ll have the grace to extend it completely—and then chop his mother fucking head off followed by the tongue and maybe he’ll make his blood into some sort of potion to show the others to keep them silent, he doesn’t care just “ _fucking shut up, ok? God damn it, we’ll make the fucking weapon! Ask fuckin’ Equius or something he was with you at the time! Or Kanaya! I don’t know! Just shut your God damn trap!”_

The clearing is silent until Kanaya whispers, “maybe I should just take you home now, Dave.”

                “Dirk’s,” he whispers back, whimpering at the sound. “I’m supposed to spend the night at his house.”

                “Ok, baby. What’s his address? I’ll take you there now.”

                He whispers it as loudly as he can before he lets her drag him to his feet and pulls him to the car. She helps him in and goes around to the other side. She turns the radio off and air conditioning all the way up before she puts the keys in the ignition. She doesn’t ask him to buckle up and he doesn’t. She just drives in silence until they pull up outside of the apartment.

                “Do you need my help in?”

                “No… no, I got it. Thanks.”

                “Anytime. I hope you feel better.”

                He nods and accepts her kiss on the cheek before carefully getting out. He hurries inside the building and into the elevator, pressing his forehead to the cold wall. When he gets there, Dirk is talking with Roxy, Jake, Jane, Rose, Jade and John, all of whom are spread out in a circle. Rose has her arm in a sling and Jade has three stitches under her right eye, but he doesn’t take the moment to look at any of the others.

                “M’gonna go sleep,” he declares after kissing Dirk’s forehead.

                “Head hurt again?” He whispers. Dave nods and grunts at the pain before slinking off. He drops the bag on the floor, whimpers at the sound and yanks off his glasses so that he can fall face-first onto the mattress. He pulls the blanket up over his head and hides from the world. One hundred and twenty-six seconds later, the door opens and Dirk silently walks in. He sets himself down on the bed and pulls Dave’s head into his lap.

                “Scale of one to ten.”

                “Thirteen.” He whimpers again. “Oh, God, please don’t make me talk, please.”

                “Do you see a blue line?”

                “My eyes aren’t open.”

                “Open them and touch it.”

                “B-but, Dirk, really- _”  
_

“Dave, I’m doing this to help you. Listen to me.” He whimpers as he opens his eyes, but in front of him lays another lightning blue line. It curls from the direction of the living room, around the door frame, into the room, following the trek Dirk took to get to the bed, through the small of his back, narrowly avoiding Dave’s nose and back out the door again. “Do you see it?”  
                “Do you?”

                “No, of course not. I’m not good with Time though. Go ahead, grab it.”

                So he does. His muscles relax completely as his fingers clench around the silk. Beneath him, Dirk tenses and mutters the word “breathe” to himself. Dave does the same. His headache melts away almost immediately. He curls the silk line around his fingers and Dirk rests his hand on the back of his shoulders. “Any better?”

                “Uh-huh.”

                “Stop holdin’ yourself back, ok?”

                “We’ll talk when I wake up.”

                “Sleep.”

                “I would love to.” He takes a deep breath and releases the blue line. The pain rushes back, so he hides under the blanket again. Dirk presses a chaste kiss to his lips through the fabric. Dave returns it as best he can as he rolls away, shoving his forehead against the wall. Dirk disappears and reappears with an icepack. He presses it to his forehead and groans in relief.

                By the time he wakes again, he has no idea how long he’s been out (clock says two hours) and he has a few texts from Eridan and a couple from Terezi, the former demanding a new weapon and the latter asking if something is wrong. The twinges of the headache still ghost about in his head, but he manages to push it back as he stands.

                Dirk is in the kitchen. Rose and Roxy are passed out on the futon-couch but there isn’t anything flickering on the television. Jade, John, Jake and Jane are gone. Dirk smiles at him and motions him over before offering up a beer. Dave glances at it for a moment before he takes a swig. The burn is a welcome sensation that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He knows he won’t make it through the entire bottle without being drunk out of his mind (he’s a light-weight, he knows, and he won’t deny it despite how embarrassing it is). Dirk pops another one open and takes his own drink.

                “Feelin’ better?”

                “Little.”

                Dirk rests his hand on his forehead. Dave arches his brow at him but kisses him briefly. He takes another swig as Dirk turns them around and presses him into the counter. He lopes one arm around the back of his neck and Dirk pins him down with either hand on the top of the counter. Dave reaches up and removes Dirk’s glasses, smiling gently as the scar under his eye comes into view. He kisses it.

                “How’s your head?”

                “Better. What was that thing you had me do with the line?”

                “It’s a timeline,” he supplies. “I don’t really know much about it. An acquaintance of mine has the same problem. I think she’s one of your friends’ moms, I dunno. She just reaches out and plucks it and feels better. Thought it might help you.”

                “A timeline?”

                “People who exist outside of time have the ability to-“

                “You’re hilarious, dipshit. Try again.”

                “Some people who are unusually well-versed in Time have the ability to see and manipulate them. I’m not one of them.” He shrugs. “I’m just the schizo with multiple personalities who knows how to manipulate people into what he wants.”

                “You’re not a fuckin’ schizo.”

                “And you don’t have a concussion.”

                He opens his mouth, shuts it, shrugs and takes a drink.

                “Y’know how we met on that drinkin’ site, right?”

                “Yep.”

                “Why were you drinkin’?”

                “Made me forget.”

                “Forget what?”

                “Sometimes, after Matt got finished with me, I would still feel his hands or his warmth or whatever. I couldn’t stand it. The only way to forget was through alcohol. Robert keeps a lot on-hand. He never noticed if one or two bottles went missing.”

                “You’re a shit kid, you know that right?”

                “S’ok.”

                “Why is that ok?”

                “Because, as a shit kid, a rule is I have to date people my parents don’t approve of.”

                “Ouch.”

                “Robert likes you if that’s any consolation.”

                “Half.”

                “I am currently waiting for you to kiss me if that fills the other half.”

                “We’ll see,” he whispers and presses their lips together. Dirk hums as he spreads their lips with his tongue and sinks in. It’s really been too long since they last kissed like this. Dirk’s tongue lazily sweeps through his mouth, poking at his until he agrees to tongue-tussle. It’s a rather lazy kiss, but they still pull away with gentle smiles and red cheeks.

                Someone at the front of the kitchen clears their throat. Dave pulls his head back to look as Dirk’s forehead hits his shoulder. Roxy has her arms crossed over her chest. “Is Rose still asleep?” He asks. She nods. “Then give me five more minutes.”

                “I think that you’ve had enough time.”

                “I disagree.”

                “He’s ten years your senior, Dave.”

                “Twelve, actually, and sexier each time I say that.”

                Dirk makes a noise at his shoulder. Roxy blushes and lets out a huff. “You’re underage, Dave. You shouldn’t be drinking.”

                “I’ve been drinking since I was eight. Your argument is invalid.”

                “I’m your mother.”

                “You are my roundabout mother. There’s a difference.”

                “Which would be?”

                “The fact that it makes me fully able to date your best friend.”

                “I don’t think you should do that.”

                “Why?”

                “Be-because he’s twelve years your senior.”

                “Damn, even sexier.” Dirk makes another noise and nudges his side. He chuckles and kisses his ear. “But seriously, why are you so against this? Would you be if it were any other sixteen-year-old man?”

                “N-no, I don’t think so.”

                “Then why are you against it when it’s us?”

                “Because it’s _you_. And I don’t want to see you two hurt. I love you both, but- but society won’t understand.”

                “Fuck society. Do you really think I care? I grew up for ten years without a fuckin’ _name_. Most people have theirs by the time they’re born.”

                “But, you’re not even of age. If someone finds out then Dirk can get in a lot of trouble.”

                “Obviously—that’s why we don’t do this stuff in public.”

                “But you _can’t_ be happy living with your personal lives stuffed into a tiny little apartment like this.”

                “I am, though.”

                “How?”

                “I don’t need to go to some restaurant and be waited on hand and foot to know that someone cares, Roxy. I don’t even need to come here and spend the night. Just the way the air is when I’m with him is enough.”

                “So all you need is to be with him.”

                “In laymen’s terms.”

                “First? You’re a sap. Dirk hates saps how did that happen?” He shrugs. Dirk flushes against his skin. “Second? Are you sure you’re ready for this? Society is already mad enough that you’re two men together. Of course, your being underage is pretty aggravating. _Are you ready for this?_ ”

                He points at Dirk with his free hand. “We’re edging on just over four months. I’m a little more than ready.”

                Roxy pouts for a moment before she advances forward and presses her lips to his forehead. She kisses the back of Dirk’s head afterward. “Ok. I just want you two to be happy. I already have one gay child, what’s another? So what if I’ll never have grandchildren.”

                “Roxy, you’re, like, twenty, get over it. And you have another roundabout kid out theresomewhere. And I’m sure Rose will adopt at some point in her life.”

                “What about you?”

                “Go wake your daughter up, I’m a bit busy.”

                She huffs, shrugs and leaves. Dirk glances up. “Well?”

                “Well what?”

                “What about you?”

                “Can we not talk about this right now?”

                “What would you rather talk about?”

                “Why your tongue is not in my mouth right now.”

                “Say ahh.”

                “I will murder you if you expect me to actually say that.”

                “C’mon. Say ahh.”

                Dave laughs and smiles as he pulls him in again. This time, it’s Rose who clears her throat at the front of the kitchen. Her arm is, unsurprisingly as he noticed it earlier, in a sling and there is a bandage on the side of her neck. “What happened to you?” He sighs.

                “Your friend Eridan shot me.”

                And because this is completely an understandable conclusion and there is obviously no need to ask any more questions, Dave nods and says “ok”.

                “He didn’t actually shoot me.”

                “I didn’t actually think so.”

                “Oh thank God I thought you were an idiot for a moment there.”

                “Oh thank God I thought you had no sense of humour for a moment there.”

                She giggles and shrugs her good shoulder. “Anyway, we’re, evidently, heading out. Don’t fuck with him too much, Dave. See you later, Uncle Dirk.”

                “Yeah, see ya kid.”

                The door closes behind them. Dave waits three seconds before he admits “I didn’t actually think she calls you ‘uncle’.”

                “Only when she’s half-asleep.”

                “Why isn’t your tongue in my mouth?”

                “You talk too much.”

\-----

                Dave presses his back against Dirk’s chest and hums as he relaxes into him. Dirk wraps his arms around him again and presses his lips to his cheek. “Well?”

                “Well what?”

                “Would you ever adopt?”

                “I dunno.”

                “Why not?”

                “I guess it depends on whether or not I’m single or with someone or, fuck, maybe if I’m even _married_. Whether or not I can afford to…. But I think that if I did, it would be from The House. Save a Troll or two.”

                “If it was with me?”

                “I dunno.”

                “Say, hypothetically, we do end up getting married and it’s been years and I decide I want kids. Would you adopt with me?”

                He hums and shrugs. “I guess so.”

                “You guess?”

                “Dirk, I’m sixteen. I’m not really thinking about that kind of stuff right now. I don’t really care if the dresses are white or eggshell or even if there’s a full-out wedding. A kid? I don’t care right now.”

                “What if you’re twenty-two, married and bored of me?”

                “I wouldn’t get bored of you, Dirk.”

                “You know what I mean.”

                “I dunno…. Sure. Just so long as you don’t hold me to my promise the moment I turn twenty-two.”

                “I would have to put a ring on your finger first.”

                “That’s not goin’ to happen.”

                “You wouldn’t get married to me?”

                “I just won’t get married. Not interested in it.”

                “Uh-huh…. But if you were-“

                “Yes, if I was interested in marriage, I would consider marrying you. Yet again, I’m sixteen Dirk. This is the longest relationship I have _ever had_. Give me a break somewhere here.”

                “Ok. Two more questions.”

                “ _What_?”

                “Who would wear the dress?”

                “You.”

                “We’ll have to discuss that later. Two? Why are you not kissing me?”

                “Because I am obviously fighting aliens off with my rad alien-fighting skills.”

                “Uh-huh…?”

                “Yeah-huh.”

                “Righ—mmmm.”

                “Tha’s wha’ I thought.”

                “Whatever, just don’t stop.”

                “Not planning on it.”

\-----

                His second fight happens April 18th. Technically, it’s not much of a fight. They run into each other in a park and the kid is stupid enough to pull a hammer out and swing at his head. He tries to get him to stop on the account that he doesn’t “fight kids”, but that just pisses him off more. Dave settles for shanking him where he’ll live, using his Balinsong as a shiv. The kid backs off. Dave flings the blood from his hand off-handedly as he and Vriska continue to walk through the park.

                On April 20th, though, Dave is crouching in on one of Dirk’s classes again (Karkat’s, just to embarrass him), watching the kids go through their movements and memorizing stances that he never officially learned. He knows them, though, something innate and engrained into his soul, and he feels his muscles flex beneath his skin as he imagines himself doing the same things. Dirk stops showing them the new defensive move twenty minutes into it and Karkat has already taken to it like a fly to honey. The others are still struggling with it. He catches Dave’s eye and rolls his. Dave is careful to keep his mouth shut. Dirk catches his eye though and they both know that Karkat isn’t having a fun time waiting for the others to catch up.

                Dirk clears his throat and the students keep moving through each step. Dave considers recording Karkat half-assing it on his phone to send to Terezi, but decides against it. “Some of you, as I have already learned, are participating in a fight-league called SBurb Arena.”

                Dave pipes up with “first rule of fight club!” He promptly catches the sheath that he tossed at him. The students don’t outwardly notice the sudden appearance or disappearance.

                _“As I was saying,_ some of you are participating in SBurb Arena. I don’t know which ones of you are, what teams you are on or any of that sort of thing, however I do know that a select few of you have already begun to fight and advance in the rankings. You are no longer welcome in this class. Next Wednesday will be your last lesson. I do not teach you how to kill people. I teach you how to protect yourself. I will not stand here and teach you these things just to have you turn around and use them for murder. This being said, if you drop out of the running by next Monday, there will be no ill-will. I am not asking for you to confess to being a part of the event, but I am demanding that if you wish to stay enrolled in my classes, you are not part of this. This is an event where you _will_ murder someone or you will die. I refuse to have my name associated with this. As you were.”

                Dave hides his mouth behind his hand as he shifts around. Well…. _This_ sure is an interesting revelation. Karkat catches his eye and arches his brow half-way through the sixth movement, completely blasé by the seventh. Dave glances around the class. All but five of the boys look slightly shaken and the transitions between the different movements are jerky, uncertain, and really, who the fuck do they think they’re fooling? Karkat has pulled it off the best to the point where he looks almost interested and confused at the rest of the crowd.

                The end of the class comes around quickly and Dave nods goodbye to Dirk after tossing him back the sheath. Karkat catches up to him almost instantly, shrugs his shoulders as they step out of the room and remains silent halfway down the hall. “Well,” he chuckles, “That was fun while it lasted.”

                “The Arena or the class?”

                “The class, dipshit. And I was being sarcastic. Those kids fuckin’ suck.”

                “Those kids didn’t have ten years of having the snot being beat out of them to practice.”

                “For all you know, sensei did.”

                “Dirk did.”

                “What?”

                “He’s friends with mom, bro. They grew up together.”

                “Holy shit, he’s from The House?”

                “Yep.”

                “Well fuck.”

                “What?”

                “Explains fuckin’ _everything_ bro _._ ”

                “Do me a favor Karkat.”

                “I’m going to say ‘bro’ again, fuck off. It’s not a word reserved only for your use.”

                “I was going to tell you to never call _me_ bro again.”

                “Whatever you say, bro.” Dave chuckles and pulls Karkat’s phone out of his pocket, tossing it to him. He turns the screen on and draws the pattern (unsurprisingly, it looks a hell of a lot like Terezi’s symbol). He flips through three text messages before he shrugs. “Three-person fight at six. You interested?”

                “What team is it against?”

                “Twelve.”

                “Nah. What was the team that Eridan fought that one time? The one that he hasn’t let up on Equius about. Says that the chick fought with fuckin’ magic or something? I dunno.”  
                “That was team Eleven-Eleven.”

                “How the fuck do they number us? There’s only one hundred and eleven of us.”

                “I’m not even going to bother asking.”

                “Anyway, next time we’re pinned against Eleven-Eleven, text me. I’m all for that.”

                “You want me to request a fight? I kind of want to know what all the hubbub is about. Wait, strike ‘hubbub’, I wanna know what all this brouhaha is about.” Dave snorts at the word. “What? It’s a vocab word.”

                “That is the most ridiculous word I have ever heard.”

                “It’s fuckin’ hilarious and you know it. Kanaya and Terezi want to get pizza with Rose, wanna come along?”

                “Did Terezi ask you or Kanaya?”

                “Kanaya.”

                “Totally.”

                “Why would that have changed anything?”

                “If Rezi asked, then it would have been a double date and I ain’t getting my shit all strewn up in that horse-crap.”

                “Yeah-huh… You know what? Do me a favor.”

                “What?”

                “Don’t say ‘horse-crap’ again.”

                “Do me a favor.”

                “What?”

                “Go on a date with Terezi all fuckin’ ready! God damn, you two are infuriating!”

                “I agree.” Rose says as she catches up to them just inside of the exit-door. Dave steps forward and opens the door for her. She thanks him and Karkat rolls his eyes at his over-glamorous display of holding the door open for his not-brother. “You two have been dancing around each other for as long as I’ve known you—which is quite the while considering Kanaya and I have been dating for two years and I have known you for even longer.”

                “See? Even the woman you can’t stand thinks that!”

                “You can’t stand me, Kar? Well, I’m honored.”

                “Don’t be, he can’t even stand me.”

                “Well, I’m honored to be amongst your siblings.”

                Dave laughs and rubs the top of her head. She gives him a bad look and fixes it with her good hand. Her phone goes off and she answers the text before returning to walking with them. Dave settles for walking in between the two of them.

                Rose is the kind of woman that no one expects to grow up to be as beautiful as she is. She’s the kind of girl who, most likely, played in the mud and wrestled as a kid. She nitpicks at everything and turns her nose up to anything with more than three infractions. But she’s smart and quick on her feet. She’s fun and he knows that most people are afraid of her brains, which makes her dumb herself down, even if subconsciously. He is constantly at her, poking at her until she proves to him how smart she really is. Despite his having graduated already, he knows she’s smarter. She’s also the kind of girl who wears dark makeup to make her beautifully purple eyes look brown, her blonde hair look dirty blonde and her breasts seem smaller than what they are. But in all honesty, Dave would rather no one else be his half-sister, including the Trolls.

                She glances up at him and blushes briefly. She clears her throat and nudges him with her good elbow. Her eyebrow lifts up at him before it drops again and she bites her lips as she slips her hand in his. He glances at her and she clears her throat. “Um… mom told me.”

                “We’ll talk later.”

                Despite this, neither of them pulls away.

\-----

                “Can you get that?” Dirk asks as he continues doing something in the kitchen. Dave groans and stands, making sure that he knows that he is _obviously_ going out of his way. He considers putting his shirt back on, but settles against it. He’s still in his jeans, even if an inch of his red boxers is visible. He opens the door and arches his brow as Rose stands there.

                “I was under the impression that you can just come in.” He remarks. She huffs and motions to the box in her hand and the sling in her other arm. He takes the box and kicks the door open enough to let her in. She smiles briefly and enters. The door shuts and he comes around to put the box down on the counter in the kitchen.

                “Hey, kid.” Dirk greets as she follows. She greets him back and turns her nose up at what he’s cooking. Dave thinks that tacos sound delicious. She must just be crazy. “That the sword I asked your mom to ship from New York for me?”

                “Yeah. That’s heavy, by the way.”

                “Thanks, kid.”

                “Stop calling me a kid! You’re dating my brother that might as well be my twin and _I’m_ the kid?”

                “You’ll always be a kid to me, Rose. I watched you grow up. I didn’t even know Dave existed until long after I potty-trained you.”

                She grimaces at the thought. Dave doesn’t blame her. Instead of losing that argument, though, she cuts her losses short and turns to him. “Is there any particular reason why you’re not wearing a shirt right now?”

                “I didn’t feel like wearing it.” He shrugs.

                “ _Men_.” He and Dirk snort at the hissed word. “Well, can I give you a piece of advice?”

                “Shoot.”

                She comes forward and lifts her good hand, playing with the hair around his belly-button. “No one likes this.”

                “On the contrary,” Dirk chuckles without even having to turn around. “I find it quite appealing.”

                “The muscles or the hair?”

                “Both.”

                “Which would you rather have?”

                “Dave.”

                “Dirk.”

                “I dunno.” He shrugs. “I just like it ‘cus’ it’s Dave.”

                Dave chuckles and pats her good shoulder. She smiles back. “When did you become such a sap, Dirk?”

                “Ask Dave. It must be contagious.”

                “Well?”

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a sap.” Dirk snorts. Dave flips him off. All is well in the Strider household.

 

                Rose stays for dinner. She has absolutely no trouble eating with one hand and cracking lewd jokes with them. She comments about the complete lack of femininity in the household and promptly belches. Dave is left laughing until he nearly cries. Dirk nearly chokes on his bite as she throws her head back in a guffaw. They sit around after dinner with Dirk at Dave’s back, massaging his neck to stave off the impending migraine, and Rose is across the couch.

                They talk like siblings. They recount stories of her childhood (not his, _definitely_ not his) and she tells stories about her mother, whom she has a love-hate relationship with. Dirk traces the scars on his back from the Cat O’ Nine Tails, kissing the ends of them until Rose asks him to stop. He settles for wrapping his arms around him, being his unusually clingy self, and tracing the scars on his arms from defending the others. So, all in all, they talk like siblings as Dave is molested by his needy boyfriend.

                Rose asks to stay the night around eleven-thirty. Dirk says he doesn’t care and Dave insists she take the bedroom. She tries to decline, but three seconds later he has her in his arms and is dropping her on the bed. He returns to Dirk and shucks the jeans, leaving him in his boxers. Dirk joins him and pulls the sheet around their bodies.

                “What time do you have to be to work tomorrow?” Dirk asks.

                “Ten. You?”

                “Nine. Rose goes to school around seven.”

                “We’re having sex tomorrow morning.”

                “Ugh. I have to _wait_?”

                “Be a good boy and I won’t torture you during it.”

                Dirk lets out a horrendous sigh, like he’s giving up two of his limbs and half his brain, but agrees. Then promptly bites his neck. Dave gasps as Dirk turns them over and keeps biting at him, licking long lines and nibbling on sensitive skin. He pushes him off and gives him a bad look. “Don’t push me, Dirk. I _will_ torture you.”

                “Define ‘torture’.”

                “How about not being allowed to orgasm for half an hour?”

                “That depends. Are you in me or just in total?”

                “Oh, I’ll be in you.”

                Dirk hums and leans down, hooking his lips to his collarbone. Dirk tilts Dave’s head away and bites hard enough to bring forth the start of the hickey his sucking is creating. Dave teases his thighs (just the way he likes, which is driving him _crazy_ judging by the rate he’s sucking his skin at) and smirks.

                “C’mon, seriously, Dirk. We gotta sleep. As much as I would love to fuck you senseless right now, Rose is in the other room and she doesn’t need that scarring.”

                “She’s asleep.”

                “Bullshit.”

                “Cows shit too.”

                Dave hooks his legs around Dirk’s thighs and pulls Dirk off of his collarbone with his hands. “Seriously. As much as I would love to do this right now, Rose is in the other room and the mere thought of her walking in on us is a bit of a detour. Plus, the condoms and lube are in there. Now, you can either lay down and be a good boy or you can lay down and be a bad boy.”

                “What’s my prize?”

                “Really good sex either way but if you’re a bad boy I’m gonna drive you crazy.”

                “You already do.”

                “Then I guess you’re going to be a bad boy?”

                “Yes.”

                “Fine. You’ll get your reward-punishment in the morning.”

                Dirk sighs overdramatically and lays down again. Dave kisses his jaw and settles on his sternum. He thumbs the hickey briefly and smiles. He remembers to take off his glasses after a moment and leaves them on the side table. “Alright, what’s on your mind, Dave?”

                “What makes you think there’s something on my mind?”

                “The way you’re layin’.” He doesn’t answer verbally. Instead, he reaches out and takes his hand, resting it on his shoulder so that Dirk’s thumb rests on the hickey. “What? Are you grossed out by a freakin’ hickey?”

                “No.” He shrugs. “Like I said, nothing is on my mind.”

                “You sure?”

                “Positive.”

                Dirk shifts above him and he watches as the other man worries his lip between his teeth and removes his glasses. “You really hate it don’t you? C’mon, tell me now so I know whether or not I can give you more.”

                “I like it.”

                “Then why are you making such a big deal about it?”

                “I’m not the one making the big deal.”

                “Oh for God’s sake,” Rose snaps from the hallway as she crosses to the kitchen. She grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water before walking to the back of the couch and leaning over it. “Dirk, he loves it, ok? He just doesn’t want to admit it. I was like that with Kanaya after I broke up with my ex. He… had unusual likings for marking my neck all the time, but Kanaya is cute about it. Get that through your head. G’night…. But, uh… how did you two get so knotted?”

                “I have absolutely no idea,” Dave chuckles and attempts to kick his foot. Dirk’s goes with it and they sit up to untangle themselves as she goes to bed again.

                Dirk hugs him close after that. “You… really love it?”

                “Uh… yeah. Uh-huh.”

                “Because of Matt?”

                “No.”

                “Then why?”

                “Because it’s you, Dirk.”

                “Fucking sap,” he groans and falls back. He nearly hits his head on the arm of the futon. Dave lays down on top of him, pretending like he isn’t there. Dirk wraps his arms around his waist, kissing his jaw. “Seriously, though.”

                “Dirk. I have had more boyfriends than I can remember the name of, but this is the only relationship that has ever lasted this long. Even more than that, I have never let anyone mark me.”

                “So you’re mad that I marked you?”

                “I fuckin’ love it.”

                “I don’t understand.”

                “I don’t know how to explain it to make you understand.”

                “…you like it because I’m not Matt?”

                “No, Dirk. You’re not listening. I like it because _you’re_ the one that gave it to me.”

                “That makes no sense.”

                “Dirk?”

                “ _What_?”

                “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

                “But-“

                “Go. To. Sleep.”

                “Fine, jeez. On one condition.”

                “ _What_?”

                “Are you lying to me about liking that hickey?”

                “I want you to give me a million more. Happy?”

                “…no.”

                “I didn’t think so.”

                “Ok, fine. Answer me this: why do you like that hickey?”

                “Because it marks me. It means… I dunno. It means I’m taken. And you gave it to me, Dirk, so it means more than even that can explain.”

                “You’ve had more than enough bites and hickeys before.”

                “But I didn’t enjoy getting them. I mean, I did, in the start, but not when I figured it out.”

                “Uh-huh. What do you mean in the start?”

                “So I like being bitten sometimes. Not all the time and definitely not twenty times at once, but I do like being bitten.”

                “Duly noted.”

                “One more thing?”         

                “What’s that?”

                “I swear to fuckin’ God if you tell anyone about the birthmark you are currently molesting with your hand, I will murder you.”

                “Dave?”

                “Yes?”

                “Go to sleep.”

                “Then fuckin’ shut up.”

                “I like hearing you talk.”

                He blushes gently and bites his lip as he turns around to hide in his chest. “I hate you, you know.”

                “I love you too.”

                His heart stutters as he realizes what Dirk said. He bites his lips together briefly before he pushes himself up onto his hands and turns around. The older man has his eyes shut tight and he looks to have said something he _really_ didn’t want to. Dave leans down and pecks his lips until the scared look leaves him and he cracks one eye open. “I love you, too, Dirk.” He smiles.


	20. Chapter 20

                The fight with Team 11:11 happens on April 30st.  Dave really has no idea it’s going to happen until Karkat finds him on his skateboard-trip home and takes his elbow, pulling him away. It’s seven-thirty in the evening, the sky is darkening and his two Balinsongs and One-That-Technically-Is-Not weigh down his pockets as Karkat leads him away from the music store. He answers texts as he continues to go off on random tangents between explaining how they have the fight and about Terezi (who, evidently, caught Aradia’s not-cold). He confesses that he’s going to make her soup tomorrow and bring it to her as he starts up the fire escape ladder. He stops mid-sentence, snorts and cheers. Dave arches his brow as he follows him up.

                There, on the roof, standing far away from them, is Dirk, lounging against an AC-unit, and Rose.

                “Fuck yeah,” he curses as he crosses. Dirk and Rose look up. In the ten days that have passed, Rose has had her sling removed, but she’s still favoring her shoulder. Dirk smirks back and stands up straight, unsheathing the sword from its hiding spot. “Stand on down, Rose. I want a piece of this.”

                “You too, Karkat.” Dave replies as, out of his pockets, he grabs the three blades. He separates the two that were gifted to him and settles for the one that he created with Equius.

                “Oh, fuck, no, no, you can’t do that, Dave,” Karkat snaps as he takes the other two in his hand. “Dave, seriously! This guy’s my teacher! You- no, man, don’t, don’t go full out! _Don’t you dare transform that God damned blade_!”

                “This blade has a name, thank you very much.”

                “I don’t fuckin’ care! He’s still my _teacher_.”

                “Your teacher that kicked you out of class because you’re participating in SBurb Arena. Which is amazing, by the way, considering you’re his best pupil and his classes are all pretty boring without you around.”

                “Dude, no, don’t, please don’t fuckin’ transform that.”

                “Sorry, I can’t hear you over Caledscratch’s epic transformation sounds.”

                “Holy fuck, I am _not_ in this fight.” Karkat throws his hands in the air and walks away as Dave finds the switch on the “Balinsong”s handle and pushes it all the way. The blade drops out and the handle lengthens, unsheathing the long-sword just as he and Equius designed. Rose nods her head and goes to sit next to Karkat. Dave takes up his stance—Stance Sixteen-A—while Dirk takes up another one.

                “This is going to be a lot of fun,” Dirk acknowledges. Dave smirks and nods.

                “Keep a careful eye on the clock, Kark!”

                “Got it! Begins in three… two… one… go!”

                He barely has time to block the swing Dirk aimed at him. He smirks and presses back, more reliant on slipping his sword out than actually pushing him off. He maneuvers his body and strikes. Dirk rolls away. Strikes at his feet, sweat on the ground, rolls, blocks, jabs, slashes, awkward blocks, awkward counters, holy fuck is Dirk good at this.

                Sword crossed against sword, Dave’s chest heaves. Dirk’s is the same. They smirk at each other breathlessly. Dave twists his wrist and knicks his glasses, flinging them off. The man stumbles back and holds the katana at the ready. Within three steps, Dave’s have joined the other’s near Rose and the sudden lack of protection brings blinding blue lightning lines into view.

                He hisses and stumbles back. Dirk takes the moment to knock him on his back. He rolls them over and punches his jaw. It gives him the time he needs to jump up and retake his sword. He holds it so that the blade is pointed downward, toward his opposite hip as compared to his shoulder. Dirk rolls onto his feet again, sword pointed to his gut. He parries Dirk’s attack and strikes his shoulder. The sword bites into his side before he jumps away.

                An arm wraps around his chest and pulls him down. Karkat tosses the sword away and pins his sternum beneath his knee. “Stop! Dave, stop! It’s been half an hour! _Stop!_ ”

                “Bu-!”

                “No! Some of us still want to be in this! We don’t want to be culled because of _your_ stupid move! Fuckin’ _let it go_. You’ll fight him in Secondary Rounds, right?”

                “Fine, fine, I’m done. Get _off_ my chest, I can’t fuckin’ breathe!”

                He does so and Dave takes the moment to gasp. He reaches up and grabs the lightning coming out from behind him. All sounds in the world around him stop and he focuses on just _breathing._ Across the rooftop, Dirk gasps and coughs. “Dude,” he manages, “so not cool. Give a guy some warning!”

                “Can’t fuckin’ breathe,” he gasps out and sits up. “Fuck, that fight was amazing.”

                “Uh-huh. Haven’t had _that_ much fun in a long time. Fuck, where are my glasses? So not cool man. So not cool.”

                “Noticed that after they landed. Toss me mine.”

                “Uh-huh.”

                Dave coughs and splutters as he stands, letting the lightning trail behind him. He locates the glasses and tosses Dirk’s to him before sliding his own on. His breathing comes back almost instantly and Time rushes back. Karkat looks around before turning to him. “When’d you get over there?”

                “Why does my head hurt?” Rose whispers as she pulls away from Dirk. Dave assumes that she had to keep him from attacking just as Karkat had to keep him from doing the same thing.

                “Karkat, go back home. You too Rose. Or, better yet, go to Kanaya’s.”

                “I agree,” Dirk nods. “Don’t worry; we’re not going to fight. We’re not stupid enough to infringe on your fun.”

                Karkat and Rose nod before walking to the edge of the roof, too hazy in the after-effects of the Time-stop to do anything else. Dave takes the moment to collect his knives from where Karkat left them and collapse Caledscratch back into its original form before Dirk slams against him. The make out is messy, more teeth than tongue, but fuck if it isn’t hot.

                “My house. Ten minutes.” Dirk decides. Dave nods and the two of them split off into different directions. Dave rushes to get a night-pack packed, throwing in whatever he found before he practically runs to get to Dirk’s. He takes the stairs instead of the elevator, too high on adrenaline to care, and pushes the door open.

                Dirk meets him immediately. Dave drops the pack and pushes him into the wall, moaning as he rips at his shirt. Dirk’s skin is salty and sweaty under his tongue, but he bites at his neck as he rips open the button up. Dirk’s pants are off not even two steps into the hall and he pushes him down on the bed. He bounces lightly as he shucks his underwear. Dave strips to match, including their glasses. Dirk is already hard. Dave isn’t any better off.

                Dirk is already stretched, but he takes the three seconds to make sure of it before he pulls the condom on and plunges in. Nails dig into his back as he arches into him. “Oh, fuck, just fuckin’ move,” he begs. Dave is hard pressed not to. He pulls out and thrusts in, hitting his prostate first-go. The nails on his back dig in, creating long red lines under the blood. He does it again. And again. Dirk’s head arches back as he sticks his lips to it, sucking.

                “Dave, oh, God, Dave,” Dirk moans with each thrust, the words incoherent between loud begging lips. Dave bites his chest, pulls his nipple in, thrusts, scratches down. He does everything in his sex-addled brain until he can’t think anymore. Dave moans into his chest as Dirk bends up and sinks his teeth into his shoulder to shut himself up. It bends Dirk nearly in half. He thrusts as hard as he can, pumps Dirk in time.

                He comes all over his hand. Dave follows, his muscles milking every bit out of him. He catches his breath and pulls out, ties the condom off and tosses it into the relatively-overflowing trashcan. Dave half-chuckles, half-winces as he falls on top of him.

                “What’s wrong?”

                “Cum in a sword wound… weirdest fuckin’ sensation _ever_.”

                “I noticed,” Dirk chuckles to agree. He rolls Dave off of him and, after a moment, manages to get to his feet. He goes to the bathroom and returns with a wet rag. He’s halfway done cleaning the cum and blood off his chest when he renters and completely done by the time he gets to the bed. He cleans Dave off and presses his lips to one of the deeper marks. Dave notices that he struck the older man more than he thought and there are more raised welts and actual sword wounds than he remembers inflicting. Then again, looking at his own body, he feels he is the same way.

                “This one’s pretty deep,” Dirk acknowledges. He presses at it tenderly. “Gonna need stitches.”

                “In the morning.”

                “Dave.”

                “Seriously. I’ll get them in the morning. Unless you have a suture kit lying around here somewhere.”

                “I might.”

                “ _Why_?”

                “I fucked myself over more than a few times when I was first learning how to use these swords. If you think you can wait three minutes, I’ll find it and stitch you up.”

                “You certified?”

                “No.”

                “You got a steady hand?”

                “Yes.”

                “Close enough. But if it takes more than three minutes to find, the search is off and I’ll get them in the morning.”

                Dirk is gone for precisely thirteen-point-two seconds before he returns with the suture kit. He gives the other a bad look for knowing exactly where it was. He closes his eyes and lays back, letting him do his work. He’s tied together soon enough and he kisses Dirk as a thank you.

                “That fight was freakin’ _hot_. I haven’t gotten to go full-out like that in years.”

                “I noticed. Karkat—Keven, whatever—was frightened.”

                “Just call him Karkat. He’s not your student anymore.”

                “Only one I’m actually _sad_ about losing.”

                “Do me a favor, Dirk.”

                “What?”

                “Lay down. I am _so_ exhausted.”

                “You’re not hungry?”

                “I’ll eat you out of house and home in the morning.” He laughs lightly at the end.

                “What’s so funny?”

                “We didn’t even turn the light on.”

                Dirk laughs, too. “Nope. Lay back, ok?” He nods and the other lays beside him, resting his head on his chest. There are tons of other wounds to fix, suture, bandage and kiss-and-make-better, but right now sleep calls. The others can wait until morning.

\-----

                Dave hisses as he stands in front of the kitchen sink, hydrogen peroxide on the counter, the cotton ball in his hand and pain in all of his wounds. Dirk makes a noise behind him and he holds out the newest ball to him. “Get my back.”

                “Why is your back all cut up? I didn’t strike it.”

                “That shirt was _not_ something I should have been rolling around in.”

                He nods and carefully pulls at the skin. “This looks worse than it is, right?” He hums and nods. Dirk leans over and kisses the nape of his neck. “That fight was amazing.” He flicks a piece of gravel out of his shoulder. “It’s been a long time since I was able to go out like that. I think I might have said that last night.”

                “Ditto,” he chuckles and winces at the sting. “Can’t exactly, y’know, do that against Kark or anthing. Can you get the rock outta my side please? No, down… to the left… Yeah, that one. Thanks.”

                “I can’t tell what I gave you while we were having sex against during the fight.”

                “Take a picture. I wanna see. My phone is next to the empty sword case Rose brought over the other day.”

                “What’s the password?”

                “Twelve-four.”

                “Why?”

                “Rose’s birthday, the day I was fostered and the day I was adopted.”

                “Really?”

                “No, a videogame I’m lookin’ forward to is coming out.”

                “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

                “I am. It’s just a coincidence that they all line up. Ow! Watch the nail!”

                “Y’got another rock.” Dave rolls his eyes but nods. Across the way, the man in the couple pulls a bottle from the mini-fridge and picks a baby out of the woman’s arms, gently coaxing it to feed. She falls back on the bed, exhausted. She glances up and waves. Dave waves back briefly. He points to the baby and smiles the best congratulatory smile he has in his repertoire. She blushes, puts her fingers to her chin and folds them down in the way Karkat taught him to sign “thank you.”

                “There” Dirk sighs as he passes the phone forward. The amount of burn from the roof is centered in the small of his back and the top of his shoulders but there are angry red marks down the entire length from Dirk’s nails. He calmly saves the picture and leans forward to brace himself on his elbows over the sink.

                “Rose said that your team requested the fight.”

                “Wanted to see what Eridan was going on about.”

                “Did you?”

                “Found something better. Who all’s on your team? Rose an’ you…?”

                “Roxy, Jane, Jake and their kids. You?”

                “Just the Trolls.”

                “How the hell did they label our teams? I mean, eleven-eleven and six-twelve? There are only one-hundred an’ eleven of us.”

                “Even less. Any kids we come across, Aradia gets disqualified for out-of-time-constraints fighting. An’ then your demand scared three entire teams out an’ the others have allied up so tightly they pretty much can’t fight. So your guess is as good as mine.”

                “When do Secondary Rounds begin?”

                “May something-after-the-others-get-out-for-the-summer.”

                “So we have less than a month.”

                “Mmhmm.”

                “Hold’on. There’s a pretty large rock in your shoulder. It might really hurt.”

                “Ok. Holy shit, didn’t expect that much.”

                “Got it. I don’t see any others. Do you feel any?” He shakes his head. “Do you have any other wounds that need sutures?”

                “No, just bandages. Y’got anymore?”

                “Under the sink.” He nods and crouches down, wary of the stitches in his stomach as Dirk steps back to give him room. He turns to see the other with the same number of stitches in his side that he has in his stomach. Dave grins. “That’s gonna scar, man.”

                Dirk nods his head to his stomach. “So will that.”

                “Can’t wait.” He tosses him the bandage and Dirk jokes about putting it over Dave’s mouth before wrapping his chest. Dave cleans the wounds on his chest, checks his back (empty, unsurprisingly) and wraps him. Dirk pulls him into his arms and pecks the bite-mark.

                “When’s your birthday?”

                “December third. You?”

                “December third.” They laugh briefly before making toaster-waffles and sitting down to watch television. Dirk ends up falling back asleep briefly, so Dave cradles his head in his lap and plays with his hair. By the time that he wakes, Dirk has a hickey on his collarbone that Dave smirks at and Dirk pretends like he hadn’t woken up mid-way through.

                Dave is called into work (Vriska, evidently, was sent to the hospital under “unusual circumstances”) and he groans as he goes through his clothes, grimacing when he finds a pair of pants but no shirt.

                He decides to stop wasting time and calls to the living room, “yo, Dirk?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Can I borrow a shirt?”

                “Sure, why?”

                “Was in a hurry last night. Grabbed two pairs of pants. I don’t even think one of these is _mine_ ,” he adds and tosses them onto the bed. He slips a shirt out of the bedroom closet and fluffs the collar before buttoning it up. Dirk grins seeing him and he smiles back, trying to ignore the blush burning its way through his albino cheekbones.

                “You look good in my shirt.”

                “That is a horrible country song.”

                Dirk grabs his hips in his hands and pulls him close. He pecks his lips briefly and smiles.

                “Hey, Dirk?”

                He hums.

                “I’ve been thinkin’….”

                “And?”

                “I was wondering if I could keep some clothes here. Just, like, a shirt or a pair of pants for times like this.”

                The smile on Dirk’s face is worth the three-minute make-out. “Sure. That pair of pants there on the bed? It’ll be first in the collection. I’ll clear it out while you’re at work.”

                “It’ll only be a few hours.”

                “I’ll clear it out while you’re at work. Give you your own drawer and everything.”

                He blushes again and pecks Dirk’s lips. “I love you.”

                “Love you too. Now, go. Before you’re late.”

                “I’m goin’ I’m goin’. Be back soon.”

                “Ok.”

                Dave tries to lie to himself and say that the extra lightness in his step doesn’t exist. He can’t even fool himself about it.

\-----

                When he returns, Dirk has left a note on the counter saying that he went to see Jake in the hospital briefly. Jade might come over, might not, whatever, just don’t be surprised, yadda yadda, blah, blah. He scraps it and kicks his shoes off. He goes straight to the bedroom and finds _his_ drawer. It’s the middle of three, right under Dirk’s underwear and socks and above his “night pants”. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smile.

                He goes into the kitchen to make a sandwich and discards his glasses. His eyes are drawn to a green bolt of electricity darting all over the room with no particular start, stop or fork. He glances out the window to see that it has expanded out there. It’s even tangled into and around him. He furrows his brow and finishes the sandwich before yanking viciously at the line. It unwinds from around his body, sinking lower and lower until it’s in circles around his legs. He brushes the last line off his shoulder and glances around.

                The blink of the colon between the numbers on the DVR-clock has stopped, the scene on the TV, frozen and the bird outside the window (a crow) stopped mid-flight.

                Great. Another fuckin’ timeline, just what he fucking needs. He’d rather _wring his own God damned neck_ than put up with another migraine. He kicks at the line and for a second, time resumes. Wait… time resumes. Time resumes.

                _Oh_.

                He twists his hand in the green line and dials Aradia. She answers in an unusually airy tone, but not one where she has fought recently. Just, airy, that’s all. “Y’ever see a green line like it’s overtaking everything around you?”

                “Mom says it’s called ‘Master Time’, but I have yet to see it. Why?”

                “It’s… pretty freaky. So, you’re telling me that it’s unusual to see this?”

                “I guess… I mean, I see regular people’s Timelines and the way they intermingle, but- but I don’t see Master Time. Mom says she used to, but after some sort of fighting accident she hasn’t been able to.”

                “Is she around you?”

                “Yeah, she’s in the other room.”

                “Can you ask her why you have to be intertwined with it real quick?”

                “Sure.” He hears her shuffle before walking around. Finally, he hears low murmurs before she returns. “She says that it’s because Master Time is the one that pro-Timers use to travel through time. If someone really wanted, they just had to swivel their fingers around and end up ten years in the future.”

                “Even if it cocoons you originally?”

                “She says that cocooning means that Master Time was at its wits end trying to keep you from disrupting it. The thing about Time is that it’s like a person. It understands you and, if you’re willing to learn, you can understand it. It fears, it feels happy, sad, uncertain, just as a Human does but it just… gets over it without having too much, um, she said time but that doesn’t make much sense to me.”

                “No, it makes perfect sense.”

                “You sure you’re feeling ok? This isn’t another one of your migraines, is it?”

                “No.”

                “…mom wants to know if you can see Master Time.”

                “I think so.”

                “She says that your migraines are its attempts at keeping you from seeing it. Does your head hurt right now?”

                “No, not at all.”

                “Then… it’s happy with you? I’m lost in this conversation.”

                “Battery is dying, sorry. Can you just ask her one more thing?”

                “Sure.”

                “Ask her if I have to be constantly intertwined.”

                “She says ‘no. All you have to do is remember that you are _part_ of a certain Time and it will remember your place. But, first, you two have to be friends. It doesn’t make friends easily.’ That all?”

                “Well, I went from understanding everything to understanding nothing, but yeah. That’s all.”

                “Sorry I couldn’t help more. Pester me later about it, ok?”

                “Sure.”

                “Bye.”

                “Later.” He hangs up and leans his jaw on his hand. Slowly—ever so slowly—he releases the green line from his free hand, but he repeats to himself that he is _in time_. It stops anyway. He sighs, shrugs, and decides that he will figure it out later. Immediately before he touches it again, though, the blink of the colon reappears and the screen returns to its picture. The bird squawks indignantly at him and flits away.

                The thing about time, he realizes, is that you can’t overthink it. Just roll with it and see what happens. He just hopes he doesn’t do anything retarded with this knowledge.

                He wriggles his fingers anyway and Master Time jumps, moving like a wavelength through the entire line. Ha, he notices, it’s ticklish. The door opens and Dirk enters.

                Master Time is wrapped around him still, but not nearly as much as Dave had been. It’s just loose loops here and there, one around the wound with the sutures, and the rest is like it doesn’t care. They just faze through him like he isn’t there.

                He focuses on Dirk as the other man grins and takes off his glasses. Master Time seems to… fade into the background. Dave almost completely forgets that he has no lines looped around his body as Dirk pulls him close and kisses him.

                “What have you been doin’?” Dirk asks.

                “Playing with my time.”

                “I get the feeling that it’s a double-joke.”

                “Yes. And it was fuckin’ hilarious.”

                “I don’t get it.”

                “That’s ok. I saw my drawer.”

                “Yeah? What do you think?”

                He smiles and pecks his lips. “ _I_ think that it’s perfect.”

                “Sap.”

                “I really do love you, Dirk.”

                “I know.” The kiss is long and slow, leisurely to match the day. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, I forgot how much plot is in this chapter~~
> 
> And did I ever say Dave doesn't fight with a sword? No. :]


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot, finally hitting the high points!!

                The thing about Time is: it flows at different lengths. If it finds something boring, it’ll fast-forward it to something exciting without anyone noticing. “Wow”, people say, “Time sure is flying!” But that’s not the truth. It’s just making every second smaller and smaller until even _It_ doesn’t have to bother with learning what the derivative of two is or what a Byronic Hero is. It’s learned these things a 0million times over, but that doesn’t mean it wants to learn it again. This is, thus, why Dave is currently sitting in the back of the auditorium with Karkat, Sollux, Terezi, Kanaya and Rose. The others are spread about as they watch Equius accept his high school diploma while he crosses the stage. There’s a certain level of déjà-vu that accompanies it as he had done so just the year before, but the senior prank is happening this instant.  Dave watches as Equius slips the Senior-Year golf ball into the principal’s hand as he shakes it and takes the paper. The golf balls have already spilled onto the floor and with Zahhak’s it’s enough to tip the pile and pour out onto the floor. The stage erupts in laughter as Equius walks away and the waterfall of balls overtakes. The seniors rush onto the stage to grab their ball and leave again, but Equius and a select few others refuse to do that, instead keeping face.

                Dave is proud of him for no reason but to be proud of him. He has been assured a CHIP scholarship to go to whatever college he wishes to attend plus a few more for having a 4.0 GPA for all four years that he had attended. He knows Nepeta is around here to congratulate him, but he knows that her love for him will be nothing compared to how proud _he_ feels. Not that anyone will ever know.

                “How’re we getting to the Arena now that we’ve made Secondary Rounds?” Kanaya asks as they leave the auditorium with Equius in tow. The others are around there somewhere. They’ll get bored of looking for him and come find him outside soon. “I mean, it’s all the way in Kentucky.”

                “We could walk,” Dave deadpans. Karkat swats the back of his head. He returns the favor. The ensuing slap fight continues through the entire conversation.

                “I don’t think we can walk,” Kanaya replies with a smile. He nods his head back. “My mom would never let me take the car and I doubt any of you could borrow your parents’ car. We can’t _fly_ either.”

                “The bus system would take _way_ too long. Plus, I doubt that we can take certain people”—he jabs his thumb at Karkat, who smacks him harder than he had last. It’s returned with a slap that probably five-stars the back of his shoulders to match the one he no-doubt has on his spine—“on public transit.”

                “Maybe we should all just fend-our-way for a while?” Terezi offers. “If, by the end of Saturday, we don’t have a way there we can just ask people from other teams or something. Or, we could have Dave hot-wire a car for us.”

                Kanaya whines at the thought and gives her a bad look. Terezi smirks. Rose arches her brow. “Last time I hot-wired a car for them,” he explains, “I was seven, they couldn’t see over the steering wheel and Nepeta barely managed to save them before they crashed. They still got mauled by the counselors. Fuck, that’s the injury from my last fight, Karkat!”

                “I’m not apologizing.”

                He knuckle-taps his temple. Karkat growls as his eyes cross. “Kanaya’s Six versus Terezi who’s Seven.”

                “Usually people Seven and above could stand the most punishment,” Kanaya adds. “So in punishments where we were both punished she has this over-blown sense of pride against me.”

                “It’s not over-blown!”

                “ _Regardless_ ,” Dave cuts across as he counters Karkat’s newest slap. It becomes a counter-Karkat’s-worst-advances fight as he tosses his hands away with one arm. Terezi giggles to herself and bites her lips, but Karkat doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m sure mom can drive a coupl-a’ us if we really need it.”

                “I’ll call her later and ask,” Equius acquiesces.

                “By the way, that Senior prank?” Dave offers. “Fuckin’ ridiculous. You could have done so much worse.”

                His smirk hides something more than what he is letting on. Dave can’t wait to see it happen. “It was only the distraction.”

                As if on cue, Eridan, Feferi, Gamzee with his boyfriend attached at his hip exit. At the back of the group, Aradia is dragging Jade and Vriska has John’s shirt caught under her fingers and pulled enough to almost choke him (there are a handful of others, but they make a group a bit away from the door). They make it to the group and, ever the vigilant observer of Time, Aradia holds up four fingers and drops one for each second. Almost immediately after the last one goes down, there’s a high-pitched scream from inside the auditorium. People run out, covered in waxy lines and stringy lengths of, actually… is that silly-string?

                “Not my idea,” Equius explains, “I just designed the mechanism to get all of it to go off at the same time.”

                “Dude…. Mom got stuck in that.”

                The group explodes into laughter as Equius slips away so as to not be caught. The pride Dave doesn’t-not feel doubles as he slips away silently.

\-----

                “How’re you gunna get to the Arena?” Dirk asks. He shrugs his shoulders and continues to stir the pasta in the pot, keeping it from sticking. The older man crosses the room and takes him in his arms, kissing his jaw briefly. Dave relaxes against him as he returns to making sure the meatballs don’t burn.

                “Why d’you ask?”

                “Was thinkin’ ‘bout it. Roxy, Jake and Jane are tripling up in Jane’s minivan so far as I’m aware. Made me think of a group of teens without a car-official.”

                “We decided to split up. We get there however we can. If we don’t have a way there by Friday, we have to get on our knees and beg mom to drive us.”

                “Ouch,” he chuckles. Dave returns the sentiment and puts the spatula down long enough to turn in his arms and place his hands on the other’s hips.

                “You’re handsy today.”

                “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

                “The Shifts hitting you bad?”

                “A little, yeah.”

                The Shifts are a new thing. Something that doesn’t help Dirk’s thought that he’s schizophrenic, but they’re not any form of schizophrenia that Dave has ever seen before. He’s… jittery at times, but usually that’s only after he’s suddenly forced back into his mind. He describes fantastic places, places of mystery, of death and destruction in one life, but in another he lives in a dark place with gold underlinings. He lives somewhere where he can fly but he’s forced to wear one outfit: a purple nightgown. This place is a place of mystery, of twisting corridors and spying liars waiting to tattle on his every movement. He’s found others there though. Someone who looks like Roxy sleep-floats often. Then, there’s someone who looks like Rose that sits at her desk and writes as if she will die if she doesn’t. Then, there’s someone that looks like Dave. He’s always at a turntable with headphones plugged in and a dead look to his eyes. None of them respond. Then, there’s a third world, where he’s all alone in his apartment (it’s smaller though, much smaller) and the only thing he has to do is shower because all around the apartment is an ocean. An ocean of dead fish and unusual coral. So, he’s forced to use a form of PesterChum he’s never seen before. He’s adept at it anyway.

                He tries to tell Dirk that it’s all in his mind, but that just makes it worse.

                He takes Dirk’s head into his hands and kisses his forehead. Dirk smiles gently and accepts it. “So,” he says, “Which world was it this time?”

                “The weird dream world with the night pants. Only, this time, Rose was awake. She had this look in her eye. Like she couldn’t believe it was me. Or, like she couldn’t believe that I was actually receptive. We talked a lot. I learned a lot. It’s weird.”

                “What’d you learn?”

                “That place is called ‘Derse’ and there’s one like it called ‘Prospit’ but the two moons have basically lost their purpose because the game no longer exists, but I don’t know what ‘the game’ is or any of that. Also, that everyone in the world that’s important to it’s creation and end has a persona on one of the two worlds.”

                “Oh, I’m important?”

                “Damn right you are.” Dirk kisses him on his lips this time and he smiles slightly as he pecks back. He takes a deep breath and pulls away. “Ok. What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do with someone?”

                “Like what?”

                “Just, in a relationship.”

                “Why?”

                “Because I want to know if we can do it. And because I want to stop thinking about this.” He pouts and blushes as he thinks of the answer. Dirk nudges him as he looks away. He shakes his head. Dirk takes one hand and forces Dave to look him in the eye. “Well? What is it?”

                “I- It’s nothing, what are you talking about? I don’t have something like that that I want to do.”

                “I’ve always wanted to share food between mouths. Y’know, like a scene straight outta Lady and the Tramp. Spaghetti noodle and all. Only, with a lot less fur.”

                Dave chuckles and pecks his lips again. “Yeah, I think that’d be fun.” Dirk smiles slightly and presses their foreheads together. Their glasses clack and they laugh at the absurd sound they make as they hit. They struggle with getting them out of each other without taking them off, but they eventually do come apart, just in time for the timer on the pasta to go off.

                “Dirk, the pasta is ready. I gotta drain it.” Silence. “Dirk, it’s going to burn.” Even more. “I know we’ve both had worse, but you’ll have to live with the smell of burnt pasta for weeks in this itty bitty apartment if you don’t let me go.” A sigh, but the arms around his waist disappear. He hefts the pot over to the colander in the sink, draining the pasta as he gets there.

                “You didn’t answer me.”

                “Y-Y’know those chocolate-strawberries they sell at stores?”

                “Yes.”

                “I- I’ve always kind of wanted to share one. Like you said earlier. A scene straight out of Lady and the Tramp.”

                “It doesn’t count if it’s the same thing.”

                “Does it count if in your scene you’re Lady and in my scene I’m Tramp?”

                “Dave, that’s the same scene.”

                He shrugs. “Sounds different t’me.”

                “Dave?”

                “Yes, Lady?”

                “Get your ass over here.”

                “My ass if happy right where it is.”

                Dirk presses up against him, pinning him to the counter. Dave lets the flit of a smile on his lips disappear as he meets Dirk’s eyes in the reflection on the window. The other looks entirely serious with his lips pressed to the nape of Dave’s neck and his orange eyes obscured behind black shades. “If _anyone_ is Lady, it’s you.”

                “I’m not the bottom.”

                “Bottom doesn’t equate to femininity. Ever hear of Femdom?”

                “Is that a BDSM reference I hear?”

                “Maybe.” He hums. Dirk nudges him with his shoulder. He shrugs good-naturedly. “Like I said, though. You’re totally Lady.”

                “Is that supposed to make you my Tramp?”

                “Yes.”

                “No way you’re Lady. I’m _so_ Tramp.”

                “Psh, lies.”

                “You know what?”

                “I know his brother somewhat.”

                He elbows his chest. Dirk chuckles. “I think we should watch that movie after dinner. Which, by the way, would be ready if you let go of me already.”

                “I could just eat dinner off of you.”

                “Nother kink for another day, dawlin’.” Dirk’s teeth slide out and nip at his neck. He shivers instantly. Dirk chuckles yet again and, no doubt, files this information away for another minute. “If I promise to kiss you via spaghetti noodle tonight will you let me go?”

                “No.”

                “If I-“

                “Nothing will make me let you go.”

                He smiles faintly and rests against him, pushing harder and harder until there’s a gap of air under his arm large enough to duck under. He narrowly makes it out, but he takes the noodles out of the sink, rests them on the counter and gets down two bowls. Dirk comes up behind him again presses him to the counter. He grumbles and repeats the same movement from before, but Dirk is quicker this time and blocks the exits. Dave settles for turning around and leaning chest-to-chest. “You’re so fuckin’ needy sometimes, Dirk.”

                “That bother you?”

                “Did I _say_ it bothers me? No. No I did not.”

                Dirk smirks again and kisses him. He kisses him until he’s pliant and malleable, at which point Dirk lifts him off his feet and Dave has to wrap his legs around his center to keep from falling. His arms go around his neck for good measure. “Like I said; you’re Lady.”

                “Dirk.”

                “Hm?”

                “Put me down.”

                “I like you up here.” He nips at his neck again. Dave’s head nearly falls away on contact. “Least now you’re taller than me.”

                “Damn it Dirk.”

                “Yes?”

                “Put me down or wait on me hand and foot.”

                “I can’t do both simultaneously.”

                “Figure it out.”

                “Hold on, ok?”

                “Holy shit, you’re not-!” He clings to him as the hands around his back disappear. “Holy fuck, Dirk, I was kidding, put your hands back!”

                “Are you afraid of heights?”

                “I’m afraid of falling, fuck ass!”

                “You’re not going to fall.”

                “That’s like telling an arachnapobe that a daddy-longlegs isn’t poisonous!”

                “It’s not.”

                “That doesn’t make the fear go away!”

                “Little nerd.”

                “ _I_ am _anything_ but _little_.”

                “Trust me, I know.”

                He takes three deep breaths as Dirk’s hand’s return to his back with his eyes shut. By the time he finishes and reopens his eyes, Dirk is seating him in one of the “dining room” chairs and kisses him tenderly. He returns it and smiles gently watching him make two bowls of the spaghetti and sit down beside him. Dave kisses his cheek, then pretends nothing happened. Dirk grins, then pretends nothing happened.

                They sit and watch Lady and the Tramp immediately afterward. Dirk has his arm around Dave, the quilt lay over both of them comfortably and the lights are turned way down as the two dogs go through the kissing scene.

                “If I say I’m Lady,” Dave whispers, “will you give me a ride to the Arena?”

                “No.”

                “If I say I’m Tramp, will you?”

                “No.”

                “What do I have to say to make you do so?”

                “I’m already doing it, I don’t need an exchange.”

                “You,” Dave growls, “are such a fuckin’ Tramp I have no idea what I’m going to do with you.” Well, Dave reasons, he may have called Dirk Tramp, but at least he didn’t have to call himself Lady. He’s not Lady after all…. But Dirk is so his Tramp.

                Dirk chuckles and kisses his temple. “Whatever you say, darlin’. Whatever you say.”

                “I don’t know if I like being called ‘darlin’’.”

                “What would you prefer? Darling, sweetie-pie or honey-bug?”

                “I was thinkin’ something else.”

                “What?”

                “Not important.”

                They get into a nudge-war until the end of the movie and Dirk presses against him, searching for the answer. The muscles in Dave’s back almost seem to give out and he lies beneath him without question. Dirk looms over him, smirking. He wonders, briefly, if this is what he looks like from below. “What would you rather be called?”

                “Nothin’ important, dawlin’.”

                “Dave.”

                “Dirk.”

                “Dave.”

                “Dirk.”

                “Dave.”

                “Dirk.”

                “Dave.”

                “Dick.”

                “What?”

                “Nothing, I thought we were having an argument over interesting works that start with ‘D’.”

                “Why are you in that list then?”

                He laughs briefly and pecks his lips. Dirk rubs their noses together in an eskimo kiss. He pretends like he doesn’t blush. Dirk refuses to pretend that, but he’s cool enough not to mention it. “If you don’t tell me what you want me to call you, I’m gunna call you ‘darlin’’.”

                “Nothing, I don’t care, just not ‘darlin’’.”

                “Why?”

                “Because it’s overly girly.”

                “You call me ‘dawlin’’.”

                “Different.”

                “How-so?”

                “You like it.”

                “Whatever, baby.”

                “Nu-uh, no way.”

                “Babe?”

                “Ok.”

                Dirk smirks and pecks his nose. Dave pulls Dirk down to lie on top of him. “You’re givin’ me a ride, right, dawlin’?”

                “Whatever you say, babe. Whatever you say.”

                Dave chuckles, but reasons that he’s going to have to get used to being called that. It’s the least he can do after shooting down ‘darlin’’ so quickly. (Ok, no, he secretly loves being called ‘babe’, but he’ll never admit to it. Dirk will just have to struggle to figure it out for a few weeks, secretly learn, then also secretly agree that he loves calling him that.)

\-----

                Dave drops his bag onto the passenger-side floor and slides in beside Dirk nine o’clock Friday night. They kiss briefly before he settles in and buckles up. Dirk immediately holds his hand palm up and he makes a show of sighing and rolling his eyes before slipping his hand in his. “Marissa know?”

                “Why the fuck would she?”

                “You just walked straight out the door without being caught?”

                “Robert’s drunk as hell. I could probably sit in front of him and drink a beer without him even knowing what it is.”

                “I think he’s starting to figure out that she’s cheating on him.”

                “Hopefully. Pitiful, watching her do this to him without him even noticing.”

                “Well, the drive is a little over half a day.” He uses his knee to direct the steering wheel as they come up to a red light and slow. With his other hand, he pulls a piece of paper out of his jean pocket and tosses it to him. Dave unfolds it with his single hand and glances through it before he shrugs. “I’m probably gonna conk out around ten-or-so, so wake me up when you want a turn. We’ll switch.”

                “You have your license?”

                “Yes I have my fuckin’ license. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

                “I’ve never seen you drive,” he shrugs one shoulder. “You’re always being escorted by Kanaya. Kaitlin. Whatever. Rose switched names so fast I’m having a hard time keeping up with who is who.”

                “That’s because it’s Kanaya’s mother’s car. Which of the Trolls do you know?”

                “Just introduce me later.”

                “Ok.” He shimmies over the best he can and rests his temple on Dirk’s shoulder. Dirk chuckles and swipes his thumb over the back of his knuckles. He’s content to lie there, except Dirk’s phone goes off a minute later and he sighs as he picks it up.

                “Code’s 1113.”

                “Why?”

                “Day we met. In person.” He sticks him with an “ _are you fucking kidding me_?” look as he drives with his knee long enough to remove his sunglasses. Dave does the same. He can’t see shit in them, so he doubts Dirk can see anymore. “Also the first day of Rose’s first period.” He chuckles slightly, still grimacing a little. “Jake and I hightailed it out of there _so fuckin’ fast_ you have no idea.”

                “ _Oh, God, that is not something I_ ever _wanted to know! For fucks sake, she’s my God damn sister, Dirk! Ah, gross, that’s, ahh, fuck, no amount of brain soap will ever scrub this out! Why the fuck did you have to tell me that? So not cool!”_

“Heh, welcome to puberty, said the-!”

                “I will personally _rip your dick off and shove it down your throat if you even_ think _of finishing that sentence.”_

                “Duly noted.”

                “ _Ah, man,”_ his breath escapes him in waves and he ducks his head under the guise of his hands. Dirk chuckles and nudges him with his elbow. “I fuckin’ hate you, Dirk.”

                “You are in so much agony over this,” he chuckles.

                “Nothing on this earth should be able to bleed for a week straight and _live_. That’s just _wrong_.”

                “I agree completely. But, fact of the matter is, it does. And each of your female friends are just like that. I can guarantee you that. Except Karkat.”

                Dave snorts and reasons that’s a good enough response to put his head back onto his shoulder. He gives the ultimatum that they change the subject off of periods. Dirk happily acquiesces, taking up his hand again and stroking his knuckles.

                Dave belatedly remembers to check the phone. He finds the notification on top of PesterChum’s icon.

 

                golgothasTerror [GT]  began pestering  timeousTestified [TT]

 

GT: Gday ol chap! How goes the drive thus far?  
TT: dirks driving dude  
TT: ill be his personal answering machine for now  
GT: Dave is it?  
TT: yea  
GT: Alrighty then. I was just curious as to how the drive goes….  
TT: theyre talking about girl stuff arent they  
GT: Good god make it stop  
GT: Jade why have you betrayed me so????  
TT: haha funny dude  
TT: not much different compared to this car  
GT: Why are two strapping young men like yourselves speaking of… GIRL things?  
TT: …  
TT: dirk  
TT: and his pass code  
GT: What is it?  
TT: 1113  
GT: oh  
GT: oh gog  
GT: *god  
GT: I  
GT: I think im just going to go… read somethings on the internet or something  
GT: Maybe i can get netflix on my phone. It’s been a while since i last watched avatar  
TT: man  
TT: im not EVEN going to tell you how crank that movie is  
TT: in the bad way  
TT: i mean  
TT: wait  
TT: never mind  
TT: just…  
TT: go rot your brain out  
GT: Will do!!

 

                golgothasTerror [GT]  ceased pestering timeousTestified [TT]

 

                He switches the screen off and slips the phone next to the emergency break—out of the way, but still easily accessible. Dirk shifts onto an interstate highway before he hits the cruise. He takes his eyes off the road long enough to peck his temple. Dave forces down the smile long enough to nuzzle closer to him and wrap his arm around Dirk’s so that they lock at the elbows.

                When he finally falls asleep, he dreams of a dark room with a turn table on the bed and a young woman—his age—at his desk. She looks up from her writing and blinks thrice. He cocks his head to the side as she stares back. “Weird,” she mutters and returns to her books. “I never thought I’d see him stir.”

                “Who are you talking to?”

                This time, she jumps. She jumps so hard the pen bounces off the desk and she slips off the desk chair. Her back cracks awfully loud against the wood of the seat and she hisses as he attempts to get out of the cage of sheets that now has him imprisoned. He struggles to do it and by the time he is out she is on her feet again. “ _Dave_?”

                “What’s with the reaction, Rose?”

                “You- you’re awake!”

                “So?”

                “Y-You… none of your Dersite selves have woken since… your Brother died.”

                “Matt’s still alive, what are you talking about?”

                “Oh my God.” Her lips part and her eyes widen, if only by a miniscule amount. “You’ve awakened and you don’t even _remember_.”

                “Remember _what_? Did something happen?”

                “Not in this life.”

                “Huh?”

                “There’s this thing called the Multi-Verse Theory that dicta-“

                “I know what it dictates.”

                “It’s _true_.”

                “How so?”

                “Well, in the very first universe that we existed in where we are recognizably ourselves”—her eyes roll into the back of her head and she falls backward. He narrowly manages to catch her before her head cracks on the ground and he lifts her to the bed. After a moment, he realizes what she’s wearing: a purple nightgown. And she said “Dersite” earlier…. Is this the _Derse_ that Dirk visits? Ha, what a joke. It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream (he has to look at himself to keep from panicking, but seeing that same moon on Rose’s chest on his own makes everything that much worse). He sits down heavily on the desk chair that Rose had earlier fallen out of and looks around. The only thing to do is read these shitty-looking journals.

                His next few “hours” of sleep are filled with wizard porn and dubiously-incestuous activities that she has written.

                When he finally slides into the next dream, he watches as a semi-truck driver spills hot coffee in his own lap and swerves the diesel around until it skitters along the road. It slams into Dirk’s car and sends them over the edge of the road. They roll. The last thing that Dave sees is Dirk, dead, dying, on the side of the car, completely unaware of the huge piece of glass pushed through his heart.

                He jerks awake and holds his chest. Dirk jumps at his side and moves the speed up five miles by accident. “You ok, man?”

                The ache of his heart rhythm in his chest grinds to an electric halt until it matches the relatively slow natural beat it usually has. He nods dumbly and blinks the white stars from his eyes—until he realizes those aren’t in his eyes, it’s seriously that early in the morning and the sun hasn’t risen yet. Dirk’s extra hand reaches out and splays itself on top of his sternum, over his heart. “You ok, babe?”

                “Yeah,” he nods slowly and leans back. “Nightmare. It’s nothing. Just… not expected.”

                “You wanna talk about it?”

                “Nah, M’fine. What time is it?”

                “Two-thirty-ish. Why are you asking me?”

                “Knee-jerk reaction. Lemme calm down, I’ll drive afterward. You look like you need the sleep.”

                “You sure?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Twenty-minutes.”

                “Ok.” He takes the hand off of his chest and threads their fingers together as he rubs at his eyes. There’s a glare on the windshield when he looks up again, not entirely from the sudden pressure, and his blood runs cold. “Dirk, pull over.”

                “What?”

                “Pull over.”

                “Why?”

                “ _Pull the damn car over Dirk!”_

“What’s gotten into you?”

                “Damn it, Dirk, switch fuckin’ lanes! _Pull over_!”

                “Dave, what’s wrong?”

                “Don’t make me say it again, Dirk!”

                “Fine, fine, geez,” he flicks the blinker on.

                “Dirk. There is absolutely no time to do that.”

                “It’s against-“

                “Fuck the law, I’ll pay for the ticket, just _switch the fuck over!”_

He does.

                The semi barrels right past them, swinging around until it comes to a screeching halt on the other side of the road. There is approximately three seconds where metal grinds on metal and Dave thinks he hit cars despite everything, but there’s a long scratch on the road where part of the semi’s undercarriage came apart.

                Dirk is silent for a long time, not exactly looking ahead but not exactly looking at the truck that almost killed them either. When he does speak, he wraps his arm around Dave’s shoulders, pulls him in close and kisses his forehead. “That would have hit us.”

                “Yeah-huh.”

                “Could have killed us.”

                “Would have.”

                “How did you know?”

                His voice breaks slightly as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

                “That was your dream.”

                “Uhhuh.”

                “We died in your dream.”

                “Yeah.”

                “Holy fuck.”

                “Mmhmm.”

                There’s a quick knock on the window. They jump and turn to see the semi-driver there. Dirk clears his throat and rolls down the window.

                “Everyone ok in there?” The driver asks.

                “Unhurt,” Dirk replies. “Just a little shaken.”

                “You sure?”

                “You didn’t hit us. We pulled over just in time.”

                “How did you know?”

                “I’m bad with long car trips,” Dave lies immediately. The driver nods his head and lets out a deep sigh. “We really got lucky, huh?”

                “Yeah,” Dave agrees. “You have no idea.”

                “Well, uh, drive safe, I guess?”

                “Be more careful,” Dirk responds.

                Dave adds under his breath, “you might want to get a new coffee cup, too.”

                “How do you know that I spilled my coffee?”

                “It’s all over your pants,” he returns, but in the dark of the night and with the dark color of his pants, Dave honestly would not have been able to tell lest he know what to look for. He did. The driver eventually walks away (after some exchanged conversation between him and Dirk, whoa, _Dirk_ , what the hell, why did he almost call him _Bro?_ ) and goes to the undercarriage with his phone in his hand. Dirk drives off.

                This time, the hand on Dave’s is harder.

                “I don’t know what I would do if you died, Dirk.”

                “Yeah. You too, babe.”

                “Darlin’, do me a favor?”

                “What?”

                “Never, _ever_ die when I can stop it.”

                Dirk chuckles breathily but nods. “Only if you can stop it. Vice-versa.”

                “Vice-versa. Holy shit, Dirk, there’s a rest stop up ahead, I need a breather.”

                “Way ahead of you.”

                They pull over and, within seconds, Dave is out of the car and out of Dirk’s sight. He pukes, hard, and pretends like it has everything to do with the fact that he had nearly died and nothing with the fact that something is _wrong_ , it’s _right in front of his nose_ and yet, he can’t even see it.

                See it.

                He relaxes the tension in his entire body and slowly forces it all from him. He flushes the toilet, washes his hands, his mouth out and his face before leaning over the sink. When he opens his eyes again, green lines lay all about him like a French woman in a red sofa painting. There is a knot in one of the lines going through his shoulder. He reaches out and carefully undoes it, ignoring the mental images that flood into him.

                He’s not at a funeral and he’s not grieving, so he lets out a sigh as the knot undoes itself and he can melt back into time. He leaves the bathroom and walks straight out, tilts his head back and breathes. The cool air makes the water on his face ice-bitingly-cold. Dirk finds him breathing there ten minutes after, his “walk” being completely over with by the dead-tired look in his eyes. He leans down and kisses Dave’s forehead and, yeah, he guesses it’s kind of nice to do that in public, even if it _is_ three in the morning.

                “I can scratch that off my bucket list,” Dirk offers in a poor-joke kind-of-way. Dave takes it and laughs gently, kisses his jaw, takes a deep breath and asks for the keys. Dirk shakes his head, says that they’re sleeping for a little while and whoever wakes first gets to drive. Dave would usually object, but he already has four-and-a-half hours under his belt and he usually doesn’t sleep much more than six or seven a night. So, Dirk opens the back seat and they roll around for a bit before Dave finds his comfortable place on Dirk’s chest and listens to the thick heartbeat.

                Dirk’s arms are around him afterward. Despite almost dying, he has never felt safer.

\-----

                The thing about driving with Dirk, regardless of whether or not he’s asleep, is that there is never any music. Dave doesn’t particularly like music when he drives—he would rather have it when he’s on his iPod, his computer or any other time—so he’s not against it all that much, but there are long stretches of time where Dirk’s mind isn’t engaged in the world around him. It’s obvious—entirely too obvious—that whatever is going on in his mind is a waging war and neither side is winning, but it’s not a stalemate either. More like, it’s the beginning or ending throes in a battle that, up until recently, has been a deadlock. One side is going to meet its Waterloo soon and Dave just hopes it’s not the Dirk _he_ knows.

                But, the conversations he has with Dirk when his mind is split are intriguing. Often, they talk about random things—the weather, the birds, the new bug on the windshield, the next turn-off, the next, the next, the next—but nothing is particularly interesting in and of itself _except_ that Dirk talks differently when he does so. Every now and again, he uses words that Dave files away to the back of his mind to find the definition of later. He finds that he doesn’t like the word “gay” after one accidental mishap and a twelve-minute rant about “antediluvian words” and their apparent “misinterpretation in today’s zeitgeist”. He has no idea what two of those words mean, but they’re funny and throw him off enough that he knows it’ll throw even Rose off—even more reason to learn them.

                And, well, Dirk looks at him differently when his mind is split. Half the time, it’s like he doesn’t recognize him. The other, it’s like he couldn’t bear to let him go. Dave hates his colorless skin as it flushes the colour of his blood, but he’s moved by it nonetheless. Dirk’s hand wraps around his at random moments until he finally gets into the habit of offering it up every time he wakes or every time he realizes he Split (not everything is cut-and-dry and, sometimes, Dave has to take a deep breath, call his name and say ‘you’re Split’ for him to realize it, which is heartbreaking but it’s what he needs to learn). Dave almost feels guilty that he took the reprieve of driving from him. Almost.

                Nevertheless, despite the long hours of sitting where his muscles grind together, his back crunches until he needs to pop it and his hair gets dirty from the sweat in the semi-air conditioned car, it’s still enjoyable. Around nine in the morning, Dirk wakes and they start trading off every time they stop for gas (which isn’t often, but Dirk’s car is semi-custom-made, so it’s no big deal). They switch off at one-thirty and arrive at the location at two-forty-four.

                The parking lot is somewhat crowded, but compared to how many groups are still in the game, it’s nothing. Dave kills the engine, still laughing as he climbs out of the car. Dirk does the same, but Dave is the one that stretches his back until it pops four times (he feels loose and relaxed afterward). Dirk’s pops twice, but his neck pops, like, twelve times.

                “Uncle Dirk!” Jade’s voice calls. They look to watch as the younger woman hurries over, a shit-eating grin locked beneath her buck teeth. Dirk catches her in a quick hug before she scoots around the car and hugs Dave. Before he can hug back, though, she yanks him away from the car and, consequently, Dirk. She sets herself in between them and throws her arms open as if it’s going to really work all that well at defending him. “Stay away from Dave! I mean, you let him drive your car! Don’t kill him!”

                “Why would he kill me, Jade?”

                “Because he’s really defensive of Lucie!”

                “Who’s Lucie?”

                Dirk shrugs. “She thinks I named my car Lucie.”

                “Why?”

                “Because, evidently, if you’re protective of something, it has to have a name. It’s just a car.”

                “Yeah, sheesh, Jade, her name is _obviously_ Dandelion.”

                Dirk throws his hands in the air. Jade spins on her heels, puffs her cheeks out and rests one hand on her hip, the other on his chest. “No! Her name is Lucie! You can’t just- just change her name like that!”

                He pops the air out of her cheeks with his hands and a quick clap. She giggles, coughs, and pretends like it doesn’t happen. “Tell that to Darnay.”

                “Who?”

                “Gertrude.”

                “Who?”

                “Danielle.”

                “Who?”

                “Veronica.”

                “Who?”

                “Vanessa.”

                “Who?”

                “Vriska.”

                “Oh. Why couldn’t you just call her that?” He stays silent. It takes her six seconds. “Oh.” He chuckles as he arms the car and tosses Dirk the keys. Rose, John, Jake and Roxy finally make their ways over, Jane taking up the back with some sort of deformed yawn behind her hand.

                “We made it just in time,” Roxy giggles as she and Dirk hug. He shrugs. She asks how many times they had sex on the way over. Dirk answers with, obviously, sixty-nine times. She thunks his head with the knuckles of her index and middle finger. He smirks.

                A couple of spots away, a slightly-smaller ’67 puke-green Camaro pulls into the lot. It parts a few spots down and out of the passenger’s seat, Kanaya climbs. Out of the back, Karkat and Terezi climb, both rubbing their eyes tiredly. Karkat has a white bud between his teeth (and lips) and signs with one hand something quick and illegible. Dave understands anyway.

                “Yo, Dirk, in my bag, my keys are in the right-hand pocket, toss me’em?” The older man shrugs, unarms the car and pulls the bag off the floor and into the seat. He finds the keys and tosses them over the car. Dave sorts the keys away from the keychain-flashlight powered by the same batteries that make the red LED light cats play with go. He screws the bulb off and dumps one of the flat silver instruments into his palm. “Catch this or be deaf for the day,” he nearly shouts. Karkat nods and holds his hands out. He tosses it underhand and the other catches it without mishap. The Camaro’s engine dies.

                Karkat opens the aide and takes the battery out, slipping it into his jean pockets. Terezi makes a high-pitched noise from where she’s fighting with Kanaya, who is only winning because of her longer limbs. Her phone is stretched out as far as it goes and she keeps hitting numbers or letters until she finally hits send and throws her arms up, victoriously. Dave’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Wisely, he doesn’t answer it yet.

                Karkat slips the hearing aide into his ear and flinches.

                “You do that every fuckin’ time!”

                “It rings every time!”

                “If you set it to a lower setting!”

                “Any lower and I can’t hear!”

                “You already shout constantly!”

                “Wait,” Dirk strikes his hand through the brotherly spat and they turn to face him. “You’re deaf, Karkat?”

                He shrugs one shoulder. “Only half-deaf, but enough so that I had to learn sign language. I blew my eardrums after one of my punishments in The House…. Not that you know too well about those. You weren’t a Troll.”

                Dirk shrugs his shoulders, but Dave knows the conversation isn’t over yet. He glances up to see why the others are so occupied, only to find that Roxy is talking hurriedly with a rather tall woman. She has pearly white, scarred marble skin and dim green eyes. Her smile is bright, though, and she wears a blue jacket over a black shirt. She also has blue jeans on and a blue hat with cat ears and beady glue-on eyes that rattle. It takes him a moment to realize that this woman drove Kanaya, Terezi and Karkat here. He points and nods his head.

                Karkat promptly punches the back of his head. “That’s your mother, asshole!”

                “What the fuck! I haven’t seen her since I was fuckin’ eight, what the hell did you expect?”

                “What the fuck do you mean you haven’t seen her? She was around when Equius graduated!”

                “Never saw her! I was stuck babysitting _you guys_!”

                “And when _you_ graduated!”

                “I’d reiterate that, but it’s useless!”

                “And the week before that!”

                “The week before that I was _everywhere_ making sure your weapons were somewhat feasible! At least the ones that had already been created!”

                “And basically the entire _past year_!”

                “Weapons! Checks! Work! Marissa! Robert!”

                “Spring break!”

                “I was avoiding Matt!”

                The mention of his childhood rapist silences Karkat enough for him to step back a little. His Eyes widen and he smirks. “You haven’t seen mom since she was kicked outta The House! Oh my God! _Finally_! There’s something _I’m_ better at than you without meaning to be!”

                “What? Being a momma’s boy.”

                The smirk falls from Karkat’s face and jumps to Dave’s. Karkat launches at him, fist pulled back, but before it can land, a blinding pain explodes in both of their foreheads. “ _Boys! Honestly! You’re sixteen now! Can’t you last a single conversation without fighting?”  
_

“Uh, no,” Kanaya snorts. Dave and Karkat give her a bad look. She calmly puts her green lipstick on like she isn’t stalling.

 

 

                Nepeta smiles, though, and kisses his head where it clashed with Karkat’s and Karkat’s where it clashed with his. The both of them recoil instantly and wipe at it. Kanaya cackles, bending almost double in laughter with Rose at the response. Nepeta looks confused, but shrugs anyway.

                “Wow,” she breathes, staring down at Dave. Dave forces away the blush (rather haphazardly) and smiles gently at her. She smiles back and pulls him forward, wrapping her arms around him. “I’ve missed you, baby.” She whispers, quietly enough so that the others can’t hear, but he knows that it wouldn’t matter if they heard anyway. This isn’t something that’ll ever leave the two of them anyway. “We haven’t talked nearly as much as I wanted and, dear, dear baby, you’re so _big_ , wow, I can’t believe it.”

                “I’m not a _baby_ , mom.”

                Mom feels right on his tongue. He remembers her gentle smiles, her roars of laughter, that pout when you get the last school of her favorite ice cream flavor, the anger as someone threatens any of her twelve babies, regardless of whether or not it’s Dave or Karkat.

                The smile on her face right now feels right, too. “This is nothing like the reunion I imagined. I thought I’d see you from across the room and run at you and we’d spin briefly.”

                “Yeah, no, this is pretty much the reunion I imagined. One or two differences, but the reunion I imagined.” She slides down to her knees and wraps her arms around his waist. He pulls his face into the perfect deadpan as Karkat snorts. “I take that back.”

                “What? What’s wrong, David?”

                “There’s only one thing missing.”

                “ _Steven David Winslow, how could you not tell me that your mother is my girlfriend?”_ Roxy cried, indignantly.

                “That was it, actually.”

                Nepeta arches her brow. “Your name’s Steven?”

                “No. It’s Dave.”

                Tears well in her eyes and she forces her face into his pelvis. “You have no idea how much that means to me, Dave!”

                “Mom! Mom, those are my pants! Mom, you’re getting my pants wet! I swear to God, if you soak them through like last time-!”

                “Last time, she soaked your shirt,” Terezi corrects.

                “Oh, yeah, a- and then ‘Rezi-chan-no got to see your-!”

                He tackles her to the ground to keep her silent about the birthmark. Dirk laughs into his hand as they wrestle. Karkat and Kanaya pull them apart, but the five of the Trolls are laughing too hard and Nepeta snorts, bringing harder hysterics down upon the group. Then, Terezi snorts. Everything goes to chaos until Dave’s sides ache from the pain of laughing, his eyes are wet at the corner and the others are wheezing.

                Yep. Another normal day in the Troll Household.

                Dirk helps him up and Keven up. Rose helps Kanaya and Nepeta up, Terezi settling for Karkat after he comes to her. Nepeta stretches her shoulders, looks around and sniffs the air. “It smells like tuna,” she observes before walking over to Roxy.

                Dave promptly punches Dirk’s stomach with the side of his fist. Luckily, the older man flexes before it makes contact and it hurts neither of them enough to bruise. “Do you _see_ what you do to me _when you talk about that kind of bullshit?”_

                “That was a _perfectly harmless_ observation, Dave! Fuck, really?”

                “It’s _your fault_ because of you and that _stupid date_!”

                “It’s Jake’s fault for pointing the day and month out to me!”

                “It’s Rose’s fault for actually doing it!” Jake defends.

                “Oh no you _did not_ just insult _my lady_ ,” Kanaya snaps and pulls the accused close. Terezi goes to join up with her. Rose tries to reason that it’s fine—because she has no idea what they’re talking about—but John suddenly catches up to them, claps his hands on his temples and bends slightly, trying to push the thought out. Jade does the same. Karkat goes pale and gags a little. Terezi goes to make him feel better.

                He makes Dirk high-five him.

                Just a regular day with the Sexual Joke Mentally-Scarring Duo's House (aka: Dirk and Dave house).

 

                Eventually, they all grab their suitcases—or, in his, Karkat’s and Dirk’s cases—dufflebags and go inside. There are employees already and they show them to their rooms. Dave is happy to see that Dirk’s is on the way to his as they wave and depart. The room that Dave and the others are taken to has twelve “bedrooms”, all with two beds and Dave calculates it out to see that two people have to share.

                He immediately starts hatching the plan to make Terezi and Karkat share.

                Meanwhile, he opens his phone and uploads the picture of Karkat and Terezi out cold, sleeping against each other in Nepeta’s Camaro with their hands clasped together loosely. He tags them and adds, in the info box, a question about when the wedding is.

                “So, Dave,” Nepeta asks as the two of them lounge in the living room (the others having gone to either shower, see their girlfriends or explore the place more). He looks up to see her. “How was that near-death experience last night?”

                “How do you always do that?!”

                “A mother always knows, Dave. A mother always knows.”

                The door is knocked on a few minutes later and Dave lets Dirk in. They snuggle on the couch and the three of them get caught up.


	22. Chapter 22

                The others arrive steadily over the course of the afternoon and, ever the fashionista with the fashionably late complex, Eridan is the last one to do so. Feferi is at his side immediately, making sure he’s ok but he looks happy and unharmed. Food is supplied generously at the “cafeteria” and he and Dirk get the chance to inch away and explore the forest often. They also find that the building is on a cliff face, overlooking a bay area with a sheer drop of approximately seven stories. Off to the side, they find a trail down and on Sunday, both teams go down and splash around in their clothes. Dave wonders where on the map they _are_ because he’s never seen an enclosed bay like this in _Kentucky_ before (not that he’s ever, you know, been there before).

                Monday, two days after arrival if they count the remainder of Saturday, all one-hundred and three teams left for Secondary Rounds (Dave thinks this is extreme—only seven were knocked out—the others don’t notice) gather up, ready to hear the new rules. John bounces on his toes, smiling brightly as he finds Jane. “Mom! Mom! Dad’s here!”

                “He is?”

                “Yeah, I saw him a couple minutes ago! He was walking into some door with a couple others.”

                “That’s odd…. He said he wasn’t participating in Beta.”

                “Beta?”

                “Well, yeah,” Roxy nods. “Shortly after Rose was born, the original SBurb Arena was held—Alpha. It’s how I met your mom, John. She wasn’t actually _in_ the fighting (nor was I) because she came to”—she clears her throat—“to support your father and I came to support Dirk. My cousin introduced us.”

                “For the _last time_ ,” Jake snaps, exasperated, “ _please_ don’t call me your ‘cousin’ when I’m around!”

                Whoa, startling new evidence alert! _What? The? Fuck?_ Wait… wait… wait… wait… If Jake is Roxy’s cousin, Jake is therefore Lorry’s cousin and therefore- _therefore_ Jade is his half-cousin? Cousin? _Huh?_ Confusion? All of it. He has all of it.

                The tournament ground (where they now stand) is oddly designed. With all the teams scrunched up as far as they can go, they can barely take up all the room of the main fighting grounds, the bleachers that line all four sides like a coliseum completely untouched. Being that they arrived earlier than most the rest, Dave was able to see the battlefield in its entirety. Most of it is sand-colored, hard rock that drops off in what is easiest to describe—in Dave’s opinion, but he’s no author—as a cliff whose edge looks to be the inside of a quagmire—roughed, jugged and deadly. Right now, there is a thick chain from one edge of the field to the other, digging into his naval and preventing him from falling. At the bottom of the story-and-a-half fall is a river that, though it doesn’t rush, isn’t all-that-slow. The currents look strong enough to pull someone under at the very least. Across the chasm is a single metal pillar, built into the wall with a door behind it, out of which now emerges several figures. A woman comes to the front of the pillar and braces her hands on the metal wall that comes to about her hips.

                She has long, poofed and curly black hair brushed behind her, pushing the tendrils out-of-sorts. She has broad shoulders, narrow eyes, thin lips and an evil glint to all three of these things. She has a black shirt with the same Pisces symbol that is around Feferi’s wrist but this spans the entirety of her torso, the cross of the lines going across her chest. She has an air of power previously unnoticed until the moment she steps up, the entire room goes eerily silent.

                Feferi furrows her eyebrows. “ _Mom_?”

                To her side, in the back, stands another woman. Her neat, black hair is pulled into a bun at the top of her head, held in place by two silver chopsticks. She’s hard-core, one-hundred-percent Asian to the point where it’s almost hard to break the stereotype that she be short. She’s shorter than Feferi’s mom, but the other is taller than most, so she’s probably average size. From as far back as he is, he can tell, she’s wearing a green outfit with a red dot on the clavicle, something that looks almost like it could be Aradia’s, but he’s too far to tell. Nevertheless, Aradia still whispers the same thing that Feferi did only moments before.

                Feferi’s mother drags her hand across the air before her and the crowd presses closer. Dave tucks Kanaya and Rose behind his back, letting Karkat come up to the chain so that they don’t fall. “If you stand before us now, you are not lucky. You are idiots—stupid, vile, loathsome idiots who do not know the meaning of human life, and you all deserve to die. Do not pray to your gods. If you are stupid enough to wind up here, He has abandoned you. God does not _exist_ for you! If you survive, it is out of pure and honest _luck_ and I wish you luck in the Final Round.

                “The rules for the Secondary Round have not changed much from the Preliminary Round. All weapons must be registered and may be swapped, taken away from or added to at any time between two fights. The rest of the rules are in the lists that are being left in your bedrooms in the very moment that of which I speak.

                “You are no longer allowed to leave. You have reception into your computers or cell phones and that such through the internet connection that we broadcast however you cannot upload anything or return e-mails unless pre-read. We will read anything you try to say. There is absolutely no need to do so otherwise. This is your home and this is your grave.

                “I am Meenah Peixes and I am of the remaining winners from the Last Game.” Dirk snorts, as if it’s a huge lie, and he doesn’t doubt it. He and Karkat meet eyes if only for a split second. There is something wrong about this. He does not trust this. At all. “I am a true contest to the fact that you _will_ die here. Only one team will be able to pull through. One, and that is _all_. I lost many friends and I watched those I love fall to their knees around me. _You. Will. Die. Here._

                “Each fight shall last a duration of two hours or until one contestant has been killed.” A sly, too-toothy smile spreads on her face as she looks over the crowd. “You guys won’t last long. These fights aren’t going to be any _fun_.” At last, she turns and exits through the doors she entered. The one that Aradia had called her mother steps up.

                She stretches her arms out as wide as they go, held them palms up and snaps them back down. There’s a metallic grind as panels in the walls go down and out come cameras. “This is a television show,” she says. “Don’t be mistaken. Every moment is captured and has been captured since the moment you arrived.” She glances at the crowd again and sighs lightly. “I am one of Peixes’ teammates. She is correct. None of this will be fun. Actuating Team Leaders and Remaining Team Leaders shall stay behind to determine the fights for the upcoming week. _All others—leave!”_

                The doors at the back of the room fling open, so he turns to go. Karkat grabs his arm and whispers in his ear. He nods in agreement.

                Karkat returns to the room at ten PM. He has a sheet of paper in his hand, which he makes everyone put their John Hancock on. He explains that until they hit fifty teams, all the fights are going to suck. They have a handicap for being one of the largest teams but at the same time the smallest teams are at a disadvantage because it means more fighters have to go up injured. There are quarters—a span of five weeks—and every player must at least be signed up for a fight. Even if the opponent is killed before the actual fight. (Dave sees the plot here and files it way, ready for use.) He signs up for a fight and pairs himself with Eridan. He doesn’t like the thought of fighting with the football player, but he figures he can just hide in the back if he really wants. Kanaya signs up with Terezi, Karkat takes his own, Nepeta and Equius pair off, Tavros goes with Gamzee and Vriska is alone, leaving Aradia, Feferi and Sollux to triple-up. There is absolutely no need to, but they figure that they might as well get everyone up there sooner than later.

The fights are being televised so viewers can send in votes for their favorite teams. Basically, they gotta play the romance up. Scrapping Dave’s previous plan, they have Eridan and Feferi push two beds together to share, then they send Karkat and Terezi out of the room. They plan how they’re going to get them together and which words to use to get people on their side (at some point, they decide that they’re going to have either Kanaya or Nepeta say “they’re so in love that they are always blushing, so why don’t we just call them _flushed_ for each other?”). Dave, Nepeta and Kanaya plan to draw out their own relationships to enact _some_ star-crossed lover vibes (purely inspired by _The Hunger Games_ ) but they also resolve to be mindful of their homosexuality. Not everyone agrees so readily with their current friends.

                Karkat and Terezi return right around then. Karkat has the bags of food from the cafeteria they sent him to get and Terezi is giggling as she licks at her candy-apple-red strawberry-flavored ice cream. Karkat has a small smile on his face and a smear of the ice cream on his cheek. Nepeta, as he predicted, stands up and cleans it off of him, licking her thumb as she goes to grab some hand sanitizer, which she passes around to everyone a moment later. Karkat dies of embarrassment right then and there.

                The others go to bed an hour and a half later, Feferi giggling as she and Eridan enter the same bedroom. Karkat arches his brow at him and he gestures him to the couch. The other takes up a seat, turns toward him and tilts his head back. Dave attempts to sign something to him. Karkat snorts. “Tell me verbally, cock-sucker.”

                “What’d I say wrong?”

                “You just told me that the pizza is on Mars.”

                “Well it is. Go get it, I don’t want it to get cold.” The half-joke only supplies him with a mere snort and Dave thinks it’s ironic because the joke wasn’t even any good. “Give me your aide.”

                “Why?”

                He takes it and turns the volume up some. Karkat furrows his brow as he puts it back in. Dave barely has to move his lips and hardly even makes any noise, but Karkat hears him in perfect quality. He explains the plans that have to do with the viewers and the other pouts, tries to get out of it, is denied and nods solemnly. “So long as I don’t have to fuck her,” he hisses at last.

                “You wouldn’t fuck Terezi?”

                “No, of course not!”

                “This is one of those stupid sappy-moments you’re prone to, isn’t it? What _would_ you do to her?” Karkat blushes, flips him the bird and goes to his bedroom. Dave smirks to himself, locks the “front door” and turns out the lights before going to his own bed.

                The first fights have them in the bleachers until about eleven thirty. He and Dirk go off to get lunch together and sit in the cafeteria. None of the fights are any good, but it’s still _something_ to do. “Did you know this was going to be videotaped?”

                “Was last time, yeah,” he nods. “Though it never aired. From what I’ve gathered, it’s supposed to be some sort of semi-live show. I have no idea what _that’s_ supposed to mean, though. I think it’s, like, they’re having it be live-recorded, like a reality TV show, but they’re also going to have to splice it? I don’t have the slightest idea.”

                “You didn’t sleep well last night.”

                Dirk is silent for a few moments. Heart wrenching and suspense filled moments until, at last, he can nod and takes a slow bite of his food. He chews deliberately before he shakes his head. “Not really, no. I guess I’ve taken to Shifting in my sleep, too.”

                “What’d you dream of?”

                “Weird things. Flying gears, lands of rolling heat, swords, dying, it’s not important…. I dunno. Sometimes, it feels like these are memories, not Shifts.” He shakes his head. “How can you tell?”

                “Because I know you, Dirk. Fuck, I’m in love with you and you expect me not to be able to tell?”

                The blush that touches Dirk’s lightly tanned cheeks is gentle, not at all forced, and he looks more than a little embarrassed at something. Dave smiles to himself and continues eating his taco. They finish eating before the majority of what is left of humanity files in to get their food. Dirk slips his hand into his as they walk and Dave pretends like their fingers don’t interlock. He also pretends like he isn’t reminded of a picture he once saw online of someone holding their hand to the camera, fingers splayed, with the words “The spaces between my fingers is right where yours belong” written where the other hand was missing. They decide to skip the next fight since neither of them are needed and take a walk through the forest.

                “You really are sappy,” Dirk says at one point.

                “And you’re a cold-heated fool that has no idea what the meaning of the word ‘love’ is,” Dave returns. Dirk smirks and kisses his temple as they walk. Straight ahead, twenty-two minutes from the actual compound, the electric fence is up, preventing them from leaving. Dave leans against a tree as he watches Dirk entertain himself with it.

                “So,” he starts and the older man turns to face him, “we’re doing this, right?”

                Dirk chuckles. “You noticed, huh?”

                “Since when do you hold my hand?”

                Dirk smirks at him, matching his own, and comes closer to him, leaning over him until they’re _almost touching, almost, right there, come on, stop teasing._ His arm braces him on the tree and he pecks his nose before taking his lips. “Since I decided ‘fuck society’.”

                “Oh, so about two years from now?”

                Dirk chuckles again and pecks his lips. Dave wraps one arm around his waist, using the other to hold his neck. Dirk’s free hand rests on his hip. “You sure you want to do this? The trouble we can get in-“

                “What trouble?” He shoots back. “I am a fully grown, nineteen-year-old man.” Against his neck, Dave mouths the words “I graduated last year, after all”. Dirk shivers and kisses him, all teeth and tongues and no lips.

                “How you wanna do this? I can play it up all I want, y’know.”

                “Mmmh, I was thinking all the cutesy, sappy shit in front of the cameras and then in the bedrooms we can be ourselves.”

                “Ok.”

                “So when’s the earliest you think I can sneak off to yours?”

                “They don’t give a shit where you sleep so long as you don’t leave the compound. There are tons of late-night allies that match up and discuss shit. Or, there were last time. Roxy and I co-lead it, but since she wasn’t an actual fighter, I was the technical leader. Roxy was the figure-head.”

                “So you were pulling the strings behind the scenes.”

                “Yep. Stayed sleepless for many nights because of those things. Always on your toes and shit. I’m _so glad_ I’m not doing it again.”

                “Sound like it. Hold my hips.”

                “Why?”

                “Do it. Hold me against the tree.”

                “Why?”

                “Dirk, just do it.”

                The older man does so, albeit confused, and he takes only one single moment before he jumps, shoving his weight with hands on Dirk’s shoulders to balance himself until he can wrap his legs around his waist. Dirk steps forward instantly, pressing their chests together and his back against the tree trunk. Dirk’s lips graze his. “What the fuck, Dave?”

                “I got tired of not doing anything,” he shrugs. “And, it looks good on camera.”

                “You have no idea how hot this is for me.”

                Dave smirks and leans in, teasingly resisting the urge to kiss him. “The position or the voyeurism?”

                “Both.”

                “Swinger,” he chuckles. Dirk bites into his neck. Dave gasps and chuckles breathlessly as his eyes flutter shut. He mouths at his jugular, moving up past his jaw, hooking his teeth into his ear. The muscles in Dave’s legs quiver, shuddering against Dirk’s body. “Doesn’t feel like you’re in any better positions though.”

                “Dirk, do me a favor.”

                “What?”

                “Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

                “I don’t know if I can do that.”

                “Why’s that?”

                “Because the only reason you did this was to freak out Karkat.”

                Dave nods his head to the side. “That was… a huge deciding factor. When’d you catch on that he and Rezi followed us?”

                “About two minutes after you did.”

                “Dirk.”

                “Yes, babe?”

                “Ya got two choices here: kiss me or put me down.”

                Dirk presses harder against him and glues their lips together. (Dave pretends like he isn’t completely comfortable under him, because he’s obviously not. The only person who has ever pinned him this intimately before was Matt, and even with him there was always something wrong. There was always that awkward elbow or the pain or _whatever_ , but the bark digs into his skin, probably breaking it, and yet he can’t bring himself to care. He loves it. He loves Dirk against him. And it will drive him crazy.) Dave drops one of his legs partway before Dirk’s hand catches it as it does the other. Dirk hikes him up the tree a little more before leaning away.

                “Hickeys are definitely a good look for your ears.”

                “I’ll murder you,” he returns, “one day soon. It’ll be long and slow and you will hate it because it will be quick and painless and I won’t even bother giving you a proper, slow, out-drawn, painful murder.”

                “Put your hands up.”

                “Up?”

                “Over your head.”

                He shakes his head.

                “Do it, Dave.”

                “No.”

                “I’m not going to drop you.”

                “I- I don’t think that.”

                “Then listen to me.”

                “But-“

                “David,” he says sternly. Dave’s heart flutters and he refuses to admit that. “Put your hands over your head. Trust me.”

                His hand twitches as he lifts it up. His legs shake as he tightens the muscles. His eyes shut behind his glasses and he forces himself to breathe. His fingers graze the bottom of a thick branch. Dirk nudges his other arm with his nose after he grabs on. Dave shakes his head hurriedly. Dirk continues at it until he, very carefully, shifts both of his legs under one arm and grips the younger man’s wrist, pushing it up with the other. Dave shakes as he grabs on. Neither of them moves until long after the shaking has stopped. Slowly, ever so slowly, Dave takes his hands back from the branch.

                “No. Let’s… not.”

                “Do you trust me?”

                “Of course I do.”

                “Then put your hands back on the branch.”

                “But-“

                “Dave.”

                He does. His eyebrows knit together as he focuses on anything but the lack of support. Dirk bounces him and his legs tighten almost painfully. “Trust me, Dave.”

                “But-“

                “Dave, please. One more try. If you can’t do it, we won’t.” Dave silences a whimper as he hears the other man’s disappointment. He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and hikes himself farther up the tree. Dirk smiles. “When I push you, swing onto the branch.” He nods, deafly, and takes another deep breath. Dirk pecks his lips before lifting him up. Dave locks his fingers and pulls himself up. By the time Dirk joins him only five seconds later, he’s hanging on for dear life, his heart is hammering and he feels nauseous.

                Dirk is completely at ease, though, even as he reaches out, presses as hard as he can into Dave’s shoulder and jostles him as he moves around, slipping down the trunk wordlessly. Dave turns and hides his face in his chest. Dirk holds him, shushing him quietly until the shaking tones down. “Turn around and look,” Dirk instructs. Dave shakes his head. Dirk locks his arms around Dave’s waist, promising him that he will not, even upon death, let him fall. Dave holds onto his arms and turns his head, only slightly. He stares out ahead of him.

                He can’t see what Dirk is talking about, not yet. He can’t see the paint slashes of red, orange and purple through the dark green and brown of the trees. He can’t see the beautiful sunset or the breath-stealing night sky, but he can see an eternity of trees spread out before him. He _can_ see, though, a forest that spreads, just as far as Dirk’s love will last long.

                Dirk kisses the back of his head. The strength with which Dave clings to him slowly lessens as Dirk holds him.

                “Thanks for sitting with me,” Dirk whispers. He nods back and sighs as they kiss again.

\-----

                Team 1111 and Team 612 all sit around Team 612’s room later that night. Most of them went to bed a long time ago, now making the only ones still up Kanaya, Rose, Terezi, Karkat, Nepeta, Roxy and Dirk. Dave, unlike the others, is still sitting out in the circle of people with his temple on Dirk’s shoulder and his glasses in Dirk’s shirt-collar. Terezi is leaning against Karkat’s side, fading fast and failing to hold on. He shifts her around mindlessly until she is in his lap, her head pillowed on his collarbone and her fingers locked in his shirt.

                “Why’s Dave afraid of heights?” Dirk asks at last. Roxy arches her brow and looks at Nepeta. A confused look covers her face and Karkat furrows his brow. Kanaya giggles and shakes her head. “He’s not afraid of _heights_ ,” she explains. “He’s afraid of falling. I don’t know why. Why do you ask?”

                “No reason. Why is he afraid of falling?”

                Nepeta laughs this time and Karkat snorts. Terezi offers a tired, breathless giggle. Karkat sighs, grunts and picks her up in his arms. She barely even registers the difference as he carries her to her bedroom, laying her down gently. The explanation doesn’t start until he returns.

                “When did it start, Karkat?”

                “I dunno,” he shrugs. “It was right before Kanaya was abandoned though. Or was it Eridan? You know what, I think it was Feferi. Yeah, because she was last. She still remembers her birth parents.”

                “So you were, what, six?”

                “No, because the third day he was gone, I already knew Feferi and he still hadn’t been able to meet her. Means summer hadn’t come yet, so I was still five at the time. Dave was six.”

                “So you were, what, six?”

                He shrugs. “Dave’s six months, almost to the day, older than me, mom.”

                “Yeah I know. Six months to fuck up with raising Dave compared to you.” He rolls his eyes. Dirk clears his throat and turns his hand in a circle, urging her on. Nepeta smiles and shrugs her shoulders. “Well, there’s a reason why Dave is ranked Thirteen. He can handle pain. Pain is nothing to him. He has a scar over his hip where his appendix used to be not because he had surgery—though, that happened because of this—but because he was run through with one of the Sister’s swords. He didn’t even bat an eye. For a while, I thought that he just _couldn’t_ feel pain.”

                “You going to get on with the actual story?”

                “Ok, so he’s probably explained to you how we numbered off, right?”

                “Nope.”

                Karkat snorts. “Of course he hasn’t. Dave doesn’t talk about it mom. He talks about it even less than _I_ do!” Nepeta arches her brow for a moment before “huh”ing. He continues anyway; “the numbers symbolize how much pain we could handle. Physical pain. Before we all switched, but at the end of our time there our pain tolerability matched them regardless of where we started. Psychology and stuff. Dave started at thirteen and ended at thirteen. I started at four, ended at four and have then since moved up. I don’t think we’re going to renumber though. No need.”

                “I still find it funny that we ended up following the zodiac,” Nepeta giggles her rejoinder.

                “Whatever.”

                “You’re… Cancer, then?” Dirk clarifies.

                “Yeah. You?”

                “Sagittarius. Dave and I have the same birthday.”

                “Huh. Weird.”

                “Anyway, so Dave had the highest pain tolerance and could not, therefore, be punished by pain.”

                “Of course, he still was. I think it started with the beating that blew out my ear drums. I used to try not to scream. You grew up at The House, you know how it was.” Dirk nods. “Well, that same day, Dave never came back from his punishment. We figured he was sleeping outside since we were stuck in the basement, but he didn’t come back inside the day afterward. Or after that, or even after that. Feferi came, abandoned on her birthday—s’why we don’t celebrate it, she can’t handle it—and yet he still wasn’t back. Eventually, twelve days passed since he was taken away. We just”—he shrugs—“we just guessed that he had died. So many Trolls had died before us, what’s another right? The Sisters don’t care. Another mark on the Gaspard name? Who would even notice? No one cares about Trolls. I mean, mom lost three sisters and no one even noticed except you two. She told me. It took her three weeks to notice. You, even more. Trolls are Trolls. With or without names, we aren’t cared for.

                “So, three weeks had passed. We held an honorary funeral for Dave in the backyard.” He nods his head to the side, “got beat when Miss Perfect over here confessed to it.”

                “I said I was sorry!” Kanaya snaps. “I had stage one cancer back then! I was scared! They wouldn’t give me my medicine unless I told them! Human reaction!”

                “Whoa, what? No, you did that for one of the other ones.”

                “No, I did it the first time. Nepeta did second, then it was either Feferi or Aradia for the third and they never found out about the others, so far as I remember. Yeah, because Feferi still didn’t know who Dave was, so she was humming and giggly the entire time.”

                “No, no, I’m pretty sure mom did it first time and you did it second.”

                “No, I did it second,” Nepeta confesses, “’cus’ they had stopped me on my way back from work and brought me to The Shed until I told them about our plans to do it. Then they made me buy Kanaya’s medicine, not that I wouldn’t have already done that. Because I couldn’t sit through the second one, even though I had confessed to telling them.”

                “Oh, right,” Karkat nods. “I forgot. You guys are right.”

                “Wait,” Roxy stops them, “Second? Third? What?”

                “We had, like, six honorary funerals for him before we started to figure it out. Anyway, one of the Sisters caught us, yadda, yadda, we were punished. Where was I going with that? Oh, right. Well, they started threatening Aradia with some mysterious punishment. Although Aradia is, technically, One right now, she was originally Twelve. We were kids, we didn’t put it together. Then, one day, exactly thirty-six days after Dave had disappeared, he reappeared, shaky and uncertain. He had bruises on his wrists, his ankles, around his middle, on his shoulder, and he had new scars on his back. He wasn’t allowed back in the house immediately, actually. They kicked him out into the backyard, but mom and I were already being punished for something else. I don’t really remember.”

                “Oh, one of The Children accused you of stealing from the cookie jar and I stood up for you, so we were kicked into the backyard,” Nepeta explains.

                “Since when did they have a fuckin’ cookie jar?”

                “Case and point. Us Trolls had to stick together.”

                He nods and returns to looking at Dirk. “Well, Dave hit the ground, hard, when he was released, and he clung to it like he was going to die if he didn’t. We almost didn’t recognize him. He was dirtier than anyone I had ever seen and he had lost so much weight. Don’t get me wrong, none of us weighed much back then, but… it was something bad. They hadn’t starved him, but they might as well have. He didn’t immediately recognize us, either, but when he did he clung to us and sobbed. I’ve never seen him cry like that, never before and never since.”

                “Actually,” Nepeta corrects, “Dave clung to _him_. I know my sons act like they can’t stand each other, but of all people they’d probably be the first to defend each other, too.” Kanaya laughs and nods. Karkat flips both of them off.

                “He didn’t tell us where he had been. He just curled up and tried not to die. Or maybe he tried to die. I wouldn’t blame him either way after I found out what happened. But no, no that wasn’t the only time that it happened. It was only just the beginning, as cliché as that sounds. It happened again and again… and again and again…. From the time that I turned seven to the time I turned eight, I can count on one hand how many times I saw him. He spent almost an entire _year_ there. It was a blessing, when the Winslows fostered him.” He shakes his head slowly. “Despite everything that may or may not have happened since… it was a blessing. He would have probably gone crazy otherwise. He was lucky that one of the Children got a scholarship and got to do some sort of cross-Europe tour that we were dropping her off for when they found him.

                “I was nine when I first found out what it was, so it was almost… two years since mom was kicked out of the orphanage. Roughly. A lot less, but it was more than one year. I didn’t even really do anything. Most of the Sisters disappeared for some reason and only two or three were left, so they got really overwhelmed.

                “There’s a room far away from The Shed. It’s shaped like a silo but it’s built into the ground like a mineshaft. It’s the second coming of what Dave’s punishment started. Just off the attic, do you remember the door that you weren’t allowed in because it was so rotten and decrepit that it was falling apart?”

                “What conditions did you guys _live_ in?” Rose asks, baffled. Her face looks disgusted and the quirk of her lips makes it look like she’s ready to puke.

                “All in all, they were actually really good,” Kanaya returns, smiling wide. Rose gives her a bad look.

                “No, seriously,” Karkat laughs. “It could have been a lot worse. I mean, all we got were a bunch of beatings and a lot of psychological warfare.”

                “We could have been thrown on the street and forced to raise ourselves,” Dirk mentions. “At the very least, orphanage or not, we got the chance to live. And we learned a lot of valuable lessons, as stupid as that sounds. We weren’t druggies, addicts or _anything_. We just had shit caretakers.”

                Nepeta giggles. “And besides, seeing the kind of mistreatment that we were faced with brought me to be with Roxy because of how nicely she raised you, Rose.”

                “Can I continue?” Karkat asks. They nod. “Well, behind that door in the attic is a portioned-off part of the house. There is no floor, the third floor is knocked out and the second floor is knocked out _and_ the first. There is barely enough room to sit. If you twitch, wood falls. So on, so forth. The floor, the longer you stay there, seems to get smaller and smaller, threatening to spill you over. The floor opens up into the basement, the part that we don’t sleep in; you were probably never there since you were a Child, not a Troll. They leave you there. And they don’t let you out until you break down and beg to leave. It took Dave over a month to be unable to do anything else. One month in total isolation where the only thing to do is live or fall. The next time, I, literally, saw him on my birthday, his birthday and mom’s birthday. Three out of three hundred and sixty-six days. Leap-year. I couldn’t even last three hours without freaking out. I was still stuck there for two days, but fuck. I don’t get it. I don’t see how he did it.”

                “It was easy,” Dave shrugs as he yawns into Dirk’s shoulder. The older man jumps and shifts to look at him as he rubs one of his eyes. Someone comments that he’s awake before he waves it off. “Not really. And like I was sayin’, it’s real easy to convince yourself that something is there or isn’t. So all I had to do was convince myself that I was completely safe and there was a floor. It lasted for a while, actually, but I tripped at one point trying to get to the door and spent three hours dangling from the edge of the third-story door.”

                “And which one were you, uh, thrown in at?”

                “The attic.”

                “Holy _fuck_ you fell _two stories_?”

                “Dislocated my shoulder,” he nods. “If we’re talking about the first time. I don’t even blame myself for begging to be rescued. Second time I fell, I hit the ground in the basement. It’s amazing I’m even alive. Broke my pelvis, part of my sternum, an arm, the opposite leg, coupl’a other places that I didn’t notice the pain at because of those. As punishment for falling, I had to heal inside of the room. My arm’s still fucked from that and my leg lets me know when it’s going to rain. Mmm, move a little, Dirk. Put your legs on the couch.”

                The older man complies, moving down the couch so that his lower ribcage rests on the arm. Dave rests his head on his stomach, lying on his front between Dirk’s legs and his arm around Dirk’s waist. His eyes are already shut. “Why’re you talkin’ about it?”

                “Passing the time,” Dirk lies. “Go back to sleep.”

                He hums sleepily and mutters “I know you’re lying to me, but I’ll let you get away with it this time, dawlin’.” Dirk chuckles and rotates his fingers into Dave’s shoulder until he falls asleep again. His thumb brushes the back of Dave’s neck and he shifts, leaning into Dirk’s stomach.

                “But yeah,” Karkat whispers at length. “I don’t blame him for being afraid of heights.”

                “He’s not afraid of heights,” Kanaya corrects, knowingly, “he’s afraid of falling.”

                “It really fucked him up,” Nepeta whispers, no louder than Karkat’s. “When he was little, he would always abscond to the roof to think. He likes roofs. Roofs were the places that he felt the safest at. He _liked_ roofs. After that… Dave could never go back to one. He never really calmed down after that. He couldn’t be alone; he couldn’t do anything without thinking something like that would happen. My baby…. All because he was defending someone.”

                “Wait, who was he defending?” Karkat asks. “I never found out why he was forced to do that.”

                “He never told me,” she replies. “Just that he had to make sure that they were safe.”

                “That’s Dave alright,” Rose whispers, “ever the Knight in Shining Armor, defending his Prince.”

                “Well,” Nepeta declares as she stands and takes Roxy’s hand, “I’m tired. Bed time, baby.”

                Roxy pouts as she lets herself be lifted up and dragged away. Karkat nods and agrees, going to his own bedroom. Dirk shifts Dave around and hoists him up. He asks Kanaya which one is his and nods his thanks as he goes in. He strips Dave of his clothes, kisses the top of his sternum, and strips himself, lying down with him.

                Dave stirs awake briefly. “Nnnrg…. What’d’cha thin’f the story?”

                “Not enough unironic lies.”

                “Ironically,” Dave returns. He shifts again and retakes his position with his ear on his stomach. “I liked being in the tree with you today, even if I didn’t like the whole… getting up there and getting down part.” Dirk chuckles, kisses the top of his head and leans back, holding him. Dave manages to support himself on his hands long enough to give him a long, lazy kiss. He leaves his ear on his chest rather than his stomach and hums as his heartbeat comes into hearing range.

                “Y’think you can get any higher than that?”

                He’s silent for a long time. “I guess…. If we try, maybe. Bu’… It would take a while.”

                “We have a while.”

                Dave smiles and kisses a bundle of muscles.

                “So… where did you break these bones?”

                “Show you in the mornin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that it took me SO LONG to post, but I have a lot going on in every which direction and then we also have longer chapters from now on due to fights and etc.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for bearing with this wait time! Finals, work, etc, it all piled up and now I'm only updating this because I feel like I need to. So, chapters 23 and 24!!! :D

                Dave hums as he wakes to the feel of two strong hands on his back, pressing down at intervals and playing with his ribs at others. He glances behind him to see Dirk kneeling over him, wearing nothing but his boxers and an intrigued smirk. “What d’you think y’re doin’, dawlin’?” Dave asks, smirking gently into the sheets.

                “Playing.”

                “With what?”

                “My favorite toy.”

                “So I’m a toy now.”

                “You’ve always been my toy, Dave. Something to play with and enjoy.”

                “Do you usually get fucked by your toys?”

                His smirk widens. “That would depend on which toy you’re talking about.”

                “So, wait, you actually have a dildo?”

                “Mmhmm. Well, vibe. Somewhere back at home. Like I said, I’m a Swinger.”

                “That is really hot. First BDSM references and now I’m learning about a mysterious, hidden vibrator? We’re going to have to have a talk when we get back home.” Dirk smirks and chuckles as he licks a long line up the back of Dave’s spine, coming to a stop at his neck. His teeth dig in briefly, pulling blood to make it even more sensitive than usual. He sucks and licks at the skin until Dave digs his fingers into the mattress. He moans into his mouth, his neck stretching up to give Dirk more room.

                “We can have more than a _talk_ , I hope.”

                He laughs breathlessly. “You say that like there’s any doubt about it.”

                His teeth graze him again. An electric shock runs straight through his body, relaxing his muscles beyond normal ability. A knee presses in between his legs, the thigh against his ass until the cheeks split to give him room. “Y’know….”

                “Oh, God, what idea do you have now?”

                “Of course, I brought toys…. And these fights are going to suck. Admit it, we’re too good.”

                “Nnnng, what? What’s the idea?”

                “Well, I have a few butt plugs in my bag. Why not wear them while we fight?”

                “Um, because we’re _fighting_. Don’t want to fuck ourselves up. Imagine what could happen if we fell wrong!”

                “We wouldn’t wear it the whole time. Just before our fights we can put it in and just after take it out. It would teach you to keep your center of balance in one place while dodging.”

                “I don’t know.”

                “I’ll fuck myself on your dick if you agree.”

                “So, what’s this I hear about you one-manning on me?”

                “All the way.”

                He hums and tries to look over his shoulder, but Dirk bites again. His entire body rocks into his mouth and he nods mindlessly. “Y-You’ll have to stretch me, though. It’s been over a year and a half since anything went down there.”

                “Roll on your back.”

                He complies and hums when Dirk returns to sucking on his neck… his collarbone… his chest… his nipple, mmmmh, _Dirk_. He throws his arm around his neck and nudges him until he looks up and hums. He pulls the older man up and gently kisses him, his tongue working over his in the slowest ways possible. Dirk hums and nuzzles his nose into Dave’s cheek. “I,” he says very slowly, “will be honored to do the stretching, Dave. You just lay back.”

                “O-ok…. But, Dirk, j-just so you know…. I’m pretty badly scarred. Don’t… don’t get all startled from that. Matt really did a number on me, so I’m a little surprised that I can even sit here and agree with this.”

                “Dave.”

                “I mean, who the hell just goes off and does that without a single thought? Only reason I’m doing it is because I trust you, dipshit.”

                “Dave.”

                “And don’t take that a bad way, either. It’s not the kind of blind trust that a baby has for their parent or even a lover for their lover. It’s different. I don’t know how…. But I just know it’s not _blind_ like that.”

                “ _Dave_.”

                “What?”

                “I understand that you’re awkward about being a bottom better than you do. So just lay back, take a deep breath and relax. I’m not going to do anything more than stretch you right now. The plug will go in later. And, by the way, I don’t want your blind trust. I just want you to know that you’re _able_ to trust me.”

                “Dirk?”

                “Yes?”

                “I fucking hate you sometimes.”

                Dirk laughs at him and kisses his forehead. Dave pretends like he doesn’t smile gently and wraps both of his arms around his neck, holding him still. Dirk’s forehead presses into his neck and his breathing suddenly changes, grows ragged on the edges.

                “Shift,” he orders.

                “But….”

                “Dirk, just Shift over. Work on splitting your consciousness or something. I’m just going to get dressed, take your body to eat breakfast, then we’re going to go back to your room and get me ready… ok?”

                Dirk nods slowly, hesitantly, then mutters “sorry. It’s not usually this abrupt.”

                “Something important must be happening then.”

                “Ok. Ok, I’m leaving.”

                “Go.”

                There’s no outward sign that Dirk actually Shifts, though. His breathing evens out again and he clears his throat, rubs his eyes and grabs his horrendous sunglasses off of the bedside table. Dave, reluctantly, tells him to wait and steps into his bathroom to shower. A handful of minutes later, he dresses and kisses Dirk, asking if he’s ready to go get breakfast. The Shifted personality nods, dressed already, and Dave leads him to get breakfast.

                His Dirk is back half way through the walk back to Dirk’s room, though, and he’s happy for it as he’s swept up into Dirk’s arms and forced to twirl. He tries to look unimpressed, even as Dirk stops him in time to bend him over backwards and shove his tongue in his mouth.

                He really shouldn’t like this so much.

                His face is bright red as they pull away, betraying his blush, and he only bites his lip for a second before they start walking back to Dirk’s room again. Dirk slips his hand into Dave’s, intertwines their fingers, using it as a focus point to pull him with. The sitting room is empty sans for Roxy and Nepeta and they exchange brief greetings before going into Dirk’s room. He’s forced onto the bed and chuckles as he bounces.

                “Wanna flavor of lube?”

                “Why do you have…?”

                “Why not?” He shrugs. “Apple, regular or cherry?”

                “You’re going to make a horrible joke if I choose cherry, so I’m going to go with apple.”

                “What? Don’t want me to pop your cherry?”

                “Yep. You made a horrible joke with it.”

                Dirk chuckles and pulls the duffle bag out from under the corner of the bed. He messes around in it before pulling a bottle of lube and a dark red butt plug. “When’s your fight today?”

                “Eleven thirty.”

                “So we should put it in now and go to the arena.” He shrugs his shoulders and bites the inside of his cheek as he wriggles out of his jeans and underwear. Dirk leaves them on the ground, gently places his knees over his elbows, slathering his fingers in the lube.

                The first one is thick. It’s awkward pressure against the inside of him mixed with a tearing pain of the presence of something that’s not supposed to be there and hasn’t been stretched in too many months. Dirk kisses the center of his chest and leaves it there until the crease in his forehead relaxes and his teeth on his lip release. He pulls out and pushes in until Dave’s breathing stutters back to normalcy. Then,

                A second one appears.

                Dave whimpers and cringes, his muscles shaking violently as Dirk just _leaves it there_. This is something he has never experienced before. As a kid, Matt had just thrust four fingers in and spread him forcefully until he managed to relax. The stretching had eventually stayed in his muscles until it wasn’t needed.

                And fuck, did this… did this feel different. It hurts in that way that it’s uncomfortable, but ever so slowly he grows to the warmth and the feel of two fingers inside of him. They pump inside, just as the first had, and he thrusts down on top of them at some point and bites his lip as he realizes it. Dirk chuckles and kisses his cheek before pulling Dave’s tongue into his mouth. His nails dig into Dirk’s shoulder as the fingers split apart. He gasps as they pull farther and farther apart.

                Worse still, he slips a third finger in before he brings the two fingers back together. He groans into Dirk’s mouth, whimpers, and arches his head back. Dirk goes again, pulling him apart until he fists his hands in his shirt and mewls.

                He doesn’t register anything after that. Mentally, he knows that they continue to kiss and that Dirk continues to stretch him and physically he knows the uncomfortableness subsides for the most part, but anything beyond that, he blanks. He comes back to after Dirk slips the plug into him and pulls away.

                “You ok, Dave? You kind of phased out there.”

                “Yeah-huh,” he mutters and hums as he covers his eyes. “I don’t know whether to thank you or hit you because this was your idea in the first place.”

                “You could thank me. It’s eleven-twenty, you know.”

                He groans at the thought and nods, letting the other help him up. The plug strikes him awkwardly and he bites down a moan. Dirk chuckles and works his hands into the muscles on Dave’s back. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “it’ll take you a while to get used to. I’m going to take a shower. You should walk around.”

                He nods and flops back onto the bed, front first, and watches as he goes into the bathroom. He waits for the water to turn on before rolling back to his feet and pacing. He finds a canter that doesn’t make the plug brush his prostate and even does a few quick stretches. He regrets them instantly and sighs as he resituates himself in his pants (something Dirk must have placed back on him) so that his belt holds him in place. Dirk comes out shortly after he checks for his Balinsongs and smiles as they peck lips. “You could have used the one back in my dorm,” he points out.

                “The one back in your dorm doesn’t have my clothes in it.”

                He smirks and nips at his chin. “Who says you need clothes?”

                “The law. C’mon, let’s go. Don’t want you to miss your fight.”

                “Ok, ok, I’m going.”

 

                Karkat greets him as soon as he gets under the Fighters Only roof. The others on his team are seated on the edges of the room and Eridan is sleeping lightly on Feferi’s lap. Dave nods his head back and goes to wake him, but Karkat shakes his head. “The other team dropped one of their fighters,” he explains. “And while we _could_ send two people in to fight their one that seems like overkill and a waste of bullets. Eridan said he’s all yours.”

                “Alright. Let’s get this shit done.”

                Karkat nods and points to the doors on the other side of the hall. “You have to go through there. There’s a second set that will open once you’re allowed to fight. You have two minutes to find cover. If an attack isn’t declared in ten minutes, the fight is declared null and you have to go again. Three null fights in a row and you’ll be culled. You have two hours for each fight, if it reaches longer than that, a winner will be determined from whether or not they pass out on their way to leave the arena. If, in fact, neither do, the two teams will face each other again and again until all members of both teams have gone. And, of course, you would know this if you snuck off yesterday.”

                “Says the guy that followed us.”

                Karkat smirks gently and admits “never thought I’d see you climb a tree again, Dave.”

                His knuckles pop against the other’s temples and he calmly walks through the doors. The doors before him are clear glass from inside, but he knows that he couldn’t see them last time he was in the arena, so they must be two-way reinforced glass like at a police station. Before him, the flat ground of the arena spans and beyond that he sees the square to make out the other team’s resting point. The doors open.

                He walks through. A single figure walks forward, but stills briefly as something crosses his mind. Dave stops at the half-way point and waits for him to come to meet him. The man has grey pants, a tattered grey shirt and some sort of ridiculous grey hat. He has white-tan skin and dark, dark eyes.

                It takes him a while to recognize him.

                It’s Johnny. It’s the kid that he “grew up” with. The one who destroyed his world when he moved to Arizona. It’s him, it’s _that_ kid, _that_ kid that he could tell the stories of his rapes to in weird, convoluted, back-water ways. “ _Dave_?” He hisses.

                “Guilty as charged.” He nods his head briefly and racks his hand through his hair. He’s embarrassed to have been caught doing what he is with Dirk right now, but at the same time he knows he hasn’t been caught. There’s a hum in his body he doesn’t recognize and hopes to never recognize. Johnny’s eyebrows arch, drop, his mouth opens into an O, shuts, and he repeats the entire process several times before he smirks.

                “I didn’t think I’d see _you_ here of all people.”

                “Likewise. What brings you here?”

                He shrugs his shoulder. “My step-sister dragged me into this. She goes to college, but she wanted another teammate to meet the four-person-team requirement. She, her friend and his girlfriend are all on the team with me.”

                “Cool.”

                “You?”

                “Some kids I grew up at the orphanage with.”

                “I always forget that you were adopted,” he laughs.

                Dave smirks and holds his hand out. “No hard feelings?”

                He takes it. “Nah, man. But seriously, we gotta get together after this. Talk. Get caught up.”

                “Totally.”

                “Let’s do this.”

                Johnny pulls out a Throwing-Type specibus and he shows his blades. He leaves them on their smaller forms and deflects the can as it sails through the air.

 

                The fight isn’t anything special, really. Actually, it’s rather boring. He spends the entirety of it tossing back cans until they get close again and the rest of it in close-quarters combat. He jars the plug one too many times and his body seizes around it. It gives Johnny the time to knock him back and kneel on his gut. Dave breaks his leg as he flips them back over and the other man doesn’t get up. A fifteen-second countdown is called from the ledge overlooking their fight, he’s declared the winner and he kneels to ask if he’s ok. He offers up a thumbs-up. Grunts and lets the paramedics take him to the infirmary.

                He walks off the field and pops his shoulders. Dirk presses him against the wall the moment he gets in to the team room and he chuckles as he pecks the other’s lips. Karkat laughs, congratulates him on winning and reminds the two of them that they have to go. So while everyone returns to Team 612’s room, he and Dirk return to Team 1111’s room, Dirk’s bedroom and Dirk gets busy acting on his promise of fucking himself on Dave.

 

                Dirk ends the session with long red marks down his front and bruises on his hips. Dave gets a bitemark to match the hickey. Dave removes the plug and rolls over to face Dirk. Dirk is enough of a gentleman to pull the blanket up and tug him close.

                “Dirk?”

                “Yes?”  
                “I’m not doing that again. I’m bruised as fuck from it.”

                “But it was hot watching you learn to land and move without jostling it.”

                “You tell anyone and it will not be my _dick_ that beats your ass.” His fingers play with the birthmark on the back of his waist and he mouths Dirk’s Adam’s Apple briefly.

                “Love you too, Dave.”

                “Mmhmm. Right back at’cha.”

                They don’t sleep, but they’re content to lie in each other’s warmth and pretend like they’re not for a few hours.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                Their fights pass quickly and boringly. Most don’t last ten minutes and Dirk’s barely even starts at all before the other guy nearly pisses himself. They sit around in Team 612’s sitting space, all twenty of them, and Dave mindlessly taps on his computer with his earphones in place. Terezi startles him when she leans over the back of the couch and yanks them out. His speakers blare out the piece that he is working on before he can stop it.

                “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

                “Does it have anything to do with the fights or Dirk?”

                “No and no.”

                “The orphanage?”

                “No.”

                “Then I don’t care. Let me get back to my music.”

                “No. What are you doing anyway?”

                “Mixing.”

                “Really? Play something!” He opens an old piece and hits play. It’s not one of his best ones, but it’s one of his completed ones. Almost instantly, Kanaya drags Rose up to dance and some of the others join in. Karkat disappears into his room and returns with a pair of speakers, which he connects to the laptop and turns up so that the bass is tangible in his chest. Terezi takes him out to dance as Dave programs a few others in to play afterwards and returns to mixing his current one. Dirk bats his shoulder until he sits forward and slides in behind him. Dave fixes his back to Dirk’s chest and continues typing and clicking away.

                Eventually, the other takes the keyboard from him, opens a quick notepad and types “ _I have the unupdated one. Lemme fiddle for a sec.”_ He nods back and gives him free control. He distorts something in one of the playing songs and Jade twists her hips around. He nods a few times, does a few other things, and gives him the reins back. Dave finishes the song and queues it to play after the next one. He reopens the notepad while he waits for it to go.

                _I know you don’t. It took me half an hour to find everything. I like the layout of yours better than this one, but I understand why they would put some things together._

_Yeah, same. Wait, you used mine?_

_Like, forever ago. I was bored one day and fiddled with your turntables. Didn’t listen to much, but I played around a lot._

_And you just were natural at it._

_It’s been several months, Dirk. Of course I’m a fucking natural at it. I obviously have my own turntables and turn tech._

_turntechGodhead, neh?_

_That actually sounds pretty kick ass. I should change it to match that._

_Do it later._ Dirk kisses his cheekbone and he pretends like he doesn’t blush at the abruptness of it. _I like doing that in front of everyone._

_I dunno. You agreed to do this stuff in public a lot faster than I thought you would._

_Well, I figured that, hey, we’re going to be videotaped when we’re doing it alone. Besides, we’re a gay couple; most of the stuff we do together won’t be broadcasted._

Dave leans his head back on his shoulder and chuckles as he nods. The song he had just finished plays and he listens to it, noting different times to edit. He kisses his neck at the end and chuckles as Dirk does the same.

                _I really do like kissing you around people though, Dave. If we make it out of here, I’m taking you on a real date._

_Fuck you, I’ll decide what a “real date” is._

_;* /shot_

_You are spending way too much time in the IMs. Ugh, stupid auto-capitalize_

_Shrug._

_You didnt even shrug, what was the point of saying that_

_You, my dear Dave, have no idea._

_Obviously._

_Anyway, what’s your concept of a “real date”?_

_I don’t care. Sitting around, watching a cliché movie, joking about it, making out during the stupidest of scenes._

_We already do that_

_I know._

_I want to take you on a date where we actually interact with the world._

_We interact with it as much as I want to_

_But not enough_

_Dirk._

_Yes?_

_All I want to do with you is sit quietly and watch a movie or eat dinner or even just sit quietly in an empty room. Like this._

_This room isn’t empty. It’s loud as fuck too._

_But we’re sitting quietly. So shut the fuck up._

_…_

_Ok, what is it?_

_Nothing._

                Dirk leans into his ear and whispers the words “I love you.” Dave chuckles and rolls his eyes as he closes out the window and moves onto something else. 


	24. Chapter 24

                Johnny doesn’t look too different from when they last saw each other, leaving the fight out of the picture. He has crutches and a black eye (probably from falling, Dave thinks) as well as a few scratches, but overall he doesn’t look much different.

                “So, you’re here, too?” He even sounds the same. He’s still happy and excited and speaking like he could do nothing else…. But he’s still _him_.

                Dave nods as he grabs a seat in the cafeteria, pulls it out to help him sit and takes his own across. Johnny cracks a wise-guy joke about him being a gentleman and he flips him off. They sit for hours just going back and forth, talking about how they have been, missing battles their teammates hold, missing Dirk’s battles, missing The Mysterious Miss Feeny’s battles, everything up-until Terezi sits with them for lunch. She, ever the resource for _fuck all_ , pulls a box of chalk out and instead of describing his new school, Dave makes Johnny “accidently” draw a “ghost” dick.

                The chalk fight _starts_ there.

 

                Life is short and quick, really. Dirk takes Dave out to the same tree as before and they climb it regularly. Within only a week, Dave is already signed up for his next fight. Well, that’s not necessarily true. Eridan’s newly-scheduled fight happens to be against Team 1111—Rose, per se. And he gets his ass kicked.

                For the second time.

                Against the same woman.

                So, naturally, the rules of the tournament state that they are allowed to ask for a rematch given that the Tourney Holders get to pick who each team sends up for the match is.

                Naturally, 612 accepts.

                The fight is scheduled for the next day.

                But that doesn’t mean that Dave can sleep. He’s antsy to the point where he has resorted to walking around the halls of the Tourney Hall. He hasn’t fought for an entire week, hasn’t seen John or Johnny and he feels like he is going out of his mind. The Lines of Time that he has been hallucinating appear in even the most random places to the point where he no longer gets the headache.

                And, to top it all off? He has been hearing Rose calling his name for the last half-hour. It started off quiet, almost silent, and she had been _calling, calling, calling_ for help. It was almost like he was hearing the future with the way that no one else seemed to hear it, not even Aradia, but, really? Who was he to judge?

                He can’t tell the present from the future or the past anymore.

                But that last one definitely was _not_ from the future. It was _right beside him_.

                He turns to the left. No one. The right. No one. Behind him? Yet again, no one. Down the hall? No. In the broom closet? No.

                He shakes his head and keeps going. _Dave_. No one is around him _. Dave._ Yet again, no one. D _ave_. No _one_. Da _ve_. Another empty hallway. Dav _e_. _No one is there_. Dave. Dave. DAve. DAVe. DAVE. _D_ AVE. _DA_ VE. _DAV_ E. _DAVE. “DAVE!”_

He spins around and sees Rose pressed against a wall with a rather tall man over her. His broad hand is over her mouth, so he knows that she didn’t _yell_ for him, but at the same time he can see it in her eyes that she is.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Matt?”

                “Looking for you, little brother.”

                “Looking for me through Rose?”

                “Is that her name? I thought she was Jade.”

                “Touch her. Touch her again. I _fucking dare you_. I will murder you. I will squeeze the life from your very throat. You will _not_ survive. You will lie at my feet, begging for breath. _And I will take your life_. Don’t you fucking dare _touch my god damned sister again you rapist.”_

He winces at the sound of the moniker. “Sister? You don’t have a sister.”

                “By blood I do. And she is mine. And I will _wring your neck_ if you think you’re going to survive doing that again.”

                “Now now, Dave. You know the rules. Fighting is only to be done in the ring.”

                “I look forward to _killing you_ Matt.”

                He stomps on his chest and absconds. He doesn’t see the doors or the halls or even feel the doorknob in his hand until the sound of the door shutting behind him registers in his mind. Roxy has her arms around Rose and is rocking her gently. Rose doesn’t seem to see him there. Roxy points him to Dirk’s bedroom. He walks straight in. Dirk looks up from his iPod and pulls the headphones from his ears without a single motion on Dave’s part. He stands up, off of the bed, and yanks him into his arms. Dave hides in his chest and clings to him. He’s shaking. His heart is beating fast. When did this happen?

                “What’s wrong, Dave?” Dirk finally manages.

                “Matt.”

                “What about him?”

                “Matt. It’s Matt. He’s here. At SBurb Arena. He’s _here_. He was fucking molesting Rose. And- and, what did I do? I – it was like I just- just l-lost myself. I fuckin’ _decked him_. He- he- I threatened to kill him. And I know I will, but what the fuck was I thinking. What was I thinking? Why can I barely remember any of this?”

                “You did the right thing, Dave.”

                “Fuck that, Dirk! I don’t give a shit over whether or not it was the right thing or any of that bullcrap. I just _attacked_ the man that _raped me_ for almost eight years of my life! I just attacked… Dirk, I just… holy… I attacked…. Huh?”

                Dirk, though, calmly takes a step back leaves him there, alone and broken and shaking and unsure of himself…. And shoves his fist into the side of his face. Dave looks up, dazed, from his spot on the floor. “You done yet, kid?”

                “You’re Shifted.”

                “Yeah.”

                He’s silent for the moment before he nods and stands up. “Thanks… I needed that. And my Dirk wouldn’t have done it.”

                “At least I attempted to be your Dirk.”

                “Uhhuh. Yeah. Appreciate it. Go back to your tunes.”

                The other nods and sits on the bed, pushing the headphones into his head. Dave, semi-reluctantly, lays down beside him and wraps his arm around Dirk’s waist. (When Alpha timeline Dave was young and still able to get a lot of the sicknesses that Bro no longer could, he had Chicken Pox. A bad case at that. The kind where he has to be covered, head to toe, in pink Calamine lotion and wear oven mitts and keeps his eyes closed to keep any of the lotions or his over-heating sweat from the simultaneous cold from slipping into his eyes. He was miserable, in the bathroom for the triple-wammy of the stomach flu for most of the time and downright wanted to die. It was nights like these where Bro would let him sidle in close and hug his waist and pretend like he wasn’t the out there, downright coolkid he is. The Phi Timeline Dave remembers this feeling and hugs him closer.)

                His-Dirk rouses from his musically-caused vegetative state and slips down to lie with Dave about half an hour after Dave’s heartbeat calms down. He kisses his cheek and asks “what happened?”

                “Nothing,” Dave whispers quietly. “Welcome back, dawlin’.”

                “Did something happen while I was gone, babe?”

                “Roxy or Rose can explain it to you. I’m going to nap in your bed. Give me half an hour, ok?”

                “It’s, like, nine at night.”

                “I figured I would go back to my room.”

                “If you fall asleep here, you’re staying here.”

                “Ok.” He shifts and forces his face into the pillow, watching as Dirk sighs and feels as he kisses the back of his neck. A clamber and finally the door opens and closes. He hears Dirk address Rose before he feels his body go light with fatigue. This is the worst part.

                Because, eventually, the lightness from fatigue turns into lightness from Travel and Travel means Time Travel. He doesn’t know whether or not he goes to the future, or maybe into the past? The voices are so hard to distinguish anymore.

                But the fact of the matter is, when he opens his eyes and checks on his ever-present glasses (which are still on his face, thank God, though he doesn’t remember taking them off anyway), he’s standing on the ledge overlooking one of the many fights. He doesn’t think that he went too far into the future, but he stands there anyway, pretending like this is where he belongs.

                A man appears beside him and offers him a pair of binoculars. He’s tall, broad in the shoulders and thick in the jaw. He’s white, too. The kind of white Roxy and Rose are. Dave can’t tell what color his eyes are, but he _can_ tell that his hair falls into it and the cold chill running down his spine isn’t from how cold the room is. There is something about this man that is absolutely… frightening. And… He sort of _likes_ it. It’s frightening in that it’s comfortable.

                “What’s your name, kid?” He doesn’t _sound_ that much older than him. In fact, if Dave had to guess, he wasn’t even eighteen. A young girl leans forward from where she’s standing and smiles at him. She has long, black hair, brilliant blue eyes, buck teeth, glasses, a white maternity dress and the look of someone that _could_ have been Jane. It isn’t Jane, but it could have been.

                “Dave,” he answers slowly. Should he lie? He feels like this man would know even if he did. What’s the point of lying to someone who always knows everything? “You?”

                “Lawrence Egbert,” he answers simply. “This is my fiancée, Jane.”

                “Hi,” she giggles and holds her hand out. He takes it and shakes it quickly. “You appeared right out of nowhere, young man! How did you get up here?”

                He looks back over the fight. “It’s… an innate ability of mine to get places that I’m not supposed to be.”

                The door behind him opens and shuts again. He turns to see a man in a white suit with a green shirt walking forward with another woman beneath his arm. She looks like Feferi, only her hair is longer, pulled into two braids, and wow are her teeth _pointy_. “Meenah,” the man in the green shirt says, but his eyes linger on Dave like he knows that he isn’t from their current time. “She has come to request your assistance.”

                Lawrence nods and Green Shirt leaves. Meenah steps forward and it suddenly occurs to Dave that this _is_ Feferi’s mom. It’s the same woman that began the opening ceremonies at the start of SBurb Beta, but she’s younger—Dave’s age…. Dirk’s age, sixteen years ago. He glances behind him at the fight currently raging on to see a somewhat-pregnant woman with a gun in her hands and a man with a long sword slashing through the air, cutting through red… _robots_. Dirk. And… Roxy? Dirk and Roxy. That is Dirk and Roxy fighting against some sort of…. Drone. (Of course Roxy would be fighting even if she said she didn’t, Dave thinks—what mother would say they did fight while knowingly pregnant?)

                “I’ve come to request a Scratched Session.” Meenah declares. Her eyes linger on Dave as he returns to face her. Her lips purse. “I don’t think it wise if we speak while… a member of another team is here.”

                “I agree,” Lawrence smiles at him. “Why don’t you go through that door? I’m sure your innate ability will take you somewhere interesting.”

                He shrugs his shoulders and walks away, all too aware of the fact that the conversation will go nowhere elsewise. Just beyond the door is a large, grand staircase and, to either side of the foyer, a door. And Green Shirt Guy. He shoves him against the wall and glares at him. His eyes match the same slime-green of his neon-against-white shirt.

                “You need to go,” the teenager with little control over himself demands.

                “Where?”

                “Away.”

                “Away is a very vague answer,” he responds. The man releases his shirt collar and he stumbles away, glaring at him. Green Shirt holds his hand to his forehead and lets out a thick breath.

                “You are correct,” he mutters. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me. Do forgive me, Young Strider. I’m afraid I don’t oft get like that. I tend to have a much better aptitude for controlling emotions.” His hands go behind his back and latch onto his wrists. He looks regal—defined. Like he knows who he is, versus the slouch that Dave always has, always, because he’s that kid behind the mysterious shades and the ironic air to keep people from asking about why he has another bruised jaw. He knows who he is. “But I fear that you cannot be here, David Strider.”

                “And why’s that?”

                “You’re needed elsewhere, I presume.”

                “So?”

                “Well, to put it bluntly, the fact of the matter is that it is not time for you to meet with Lawrence.”

                “And why is that?”

                His smile is sharp-toothed, straight-eyed and Dave feels the spark of adrenaline rush through his system before it does. His toes curl in anticipation. “Because, dear David Strider… This is only the Alpha Session. _You_ belong in the Beta Session.”

                “I could just kill whoever you have running this show in this timeline. The presidents of the Alpha Session or something. I’m just _assuming_ here, but there _are_ two, right?”

                “There are three running this show in both Sessions. And I’m afraid you have something wrong. This _is_ your timeline. This is the… Oh, what are you calling it now? It was originally Theta, correct? Then yours must be Phi if you’re still alive.”

                “Why do you say that?”

                “Well, dear David, the answer is simple: in trigonometry, one uses Theta to find Phi.” Dave thinks of the future Dave he met with back at Dirk’s apartment a millennia ago. If what this man is saying is true, then that had been Theta Dave, but that would mean…. What would that mean? He just doesn’t know.

                Who is he to believe a word of what this man is saying anyway? That’s crazy talk.

                “So then what you’re saying is that if I fuck up here, I fuck up in the future.”

                “Yes. As it may be, you and your beloved Dirk may never meet if you were to, oh, say, murder someone here.”

                He purses his lips. “So what you’re saying is that it would be better if I leave?”

                “Yes.”

                “Simply put?”

                “Indeed.”

                “What’s your name?”

                “May I ask why?”

                “So I know whose ass to kick in the future.”

                “In the future, you will know me as Doctor Scratch. Please, I insist you call me Doc Scratch.”

                “Uhhuh…. And how do you know so much about me?”

                “Dear David Strider… I know everything. Even how I die…. Even how you awaken my dear boss.”

                “… I can’t wait to see, _Doc_.”

                The man bows his head. He turns and walks down the stairs.

                ( _The thing with time travel is… You can’t overthink it. Just roll with it and see what happens… and above all try not to do anything retarded._ He feels like he just did.)

                And, just like one step molds into another, the ripples of time are like folded. With just a simple step forward, a trip of a green line, the drag of a red on his toes, he steps through time. He watches as Dirk kisses the back of his Past Self’s neck and stands. He stretches his shoulders silently as Past-Dave folds his arms under the pillow. Dirk looks over to see him and jumps, knocking over a sword next to his foot in the process. He holds a finger to his lips to tell him to be silent, walks up to him without a noise and presses their lips together gingerly. He motions to the door with his head and watches as he walks away.

                “Hey, Rose?”

                He turns to watch as Past-Dave murmurs and gently slides from existence. He removes his glasses, kicks off his shoes (those, he remembers taking off, or… does he?) and lies with his nose shoved into Dirk’s pillow. The hum of adrenaline in his muscles quickly fades out. The next thing he remembers, Dirk is pushing at his side until he rolls over. Then, like the insufferable idiot he pretends he’s not, Dirk rolls him so that Dave is cushioned on his chest.

                “I punched you?” He whispers.

                “Of course not, dawlin’,” he replies. He wonders how long he was asleep judging by the sound of his voice, but doesn’t ask. He figures it must not have been very long anyway. “Your Shifted version did.”

                “That’s still me.”

                “No it’s not,” he chuckles. “Our experiences mold us. We change with time. We change with Time.”

                “Why’d you repeat yourself?”

                “It’s not important, Dirk.”

                “I’m sorry to hear that Matt is here, but did you expect anything less? The bane of your existence is going to return.”

                “Tch… If only he was the bane of it.”

                “Then who is?”

                “I dunno. The Gaspard Sisters?” Dirk chuckles. Dave smiles and pulls at the blanket until he’s comfortable again. “Do you think… that if something random in Matt’s past hadn’t happened… he wouldn’t have done all of that shit to me?”

                “Maybe. He would have done it to someone else, then, too. Or, maybe, he just would have ended up aimless and a pile of shit, too.”

                “Maybe. Let’s stop debating this. G’night.”

                “Night…. Hey, you did that Weird Time Shit, right?”

                “Something like that.”

                “Where’d you go?”

                “Nowhere important.”

                (Dave doesn’t realize that Doc Scratch called him “Strider” until the next morning. He won’t know what to think of that.)

\-----------------

                The time of the fight is still relatively early for a night owl such as himself—eight-ten. He stands in the waiting section with his friends behind him, wondering who his next fight is against and lets out a deep breath. In each hand he holds one of his knives, ready, waiting, _tick, tock_ , the rush of blood in his ears, the hungry anticipation of the wait, is it Rose? Roxy? Jane? John? Jade? Jake? _Dirk_? Any of them? Oh, he can’t wait. The doors open—

                He steps out almost before he’s allowed to. His heart beats in his ears, out she walks. Tall, regal, defined, beautiful, someone he would date… if she wasn’t his sister. She smirks seeing him, he nods his head. Rose shifts her hands, cracks her knuckles in anticipation, and oh boy is it everywhere—in his heart, his lungs, his head, his muscles, his blood, the ground, the bleachers, _the very air around them—_

The announcer comes out over the roar of the crowd: “The rematch you have all been looking for! Team 11-11 versus Team 6-12! Rose DuBois against David DuBois! Half-Sister against Half-Brother as it comes down to it! Who will win? Who will come out victorious!?”

                “DuBois?” Rose hums and smirks. “Well, that certainly is a bit of information I have yet the pleasure of hearing.”

                “You don’t want that information, Lalonde.” He warns. “Trust me on this.”

                “I want the information behind my birth,” she snaps. “And _nothing_ will stand in my way.”

                He frowns and shrugs. She twirls one of her… is that a wand? It’s black with a purple ribbon wound about it, tied in a way that it will never move. And with each movement, the sound of breaking air cracks through the entire arena—

                He lays, decked and dazed, on the rock ground for the second time in half as many days. His cheek his bleeding, dripping a bit of that heart-water onto his shirt, down his alabaster skin…. He back flips, stands on his feet. A slit breaks open in his sleeve, blood soaks it, his leg his opposite thigh—

                The barrage of injuries comes with the sound of cracking air and the feel of wet blood before the sting of broken skin and _holy fuck_ , is she good. She looks like she’s dancing. She spins in ways one would not expect. Her hands move expertly, well-trained with those strange wands of hers. Black threads of beautiful intricacy spin blankets upon the air above them, though---

                Another slice to his side. He skids on the ground, shirt ripping as something as simple as a rudimentary sword block is lost on him. He rolls on the ground, manages to stop, growls in the back of his throat at his pure idiotic _stupidity_ with a sword. That would not have happened had he been properly trained.

                He straightens. Rose stills her wands for the moment and he breathes slowly, reconfigures his center of gravity— _holy fuck is that a cliff._

He barely keeps his balance. He looks back. Death. He looks forward. The Grim Reaper, waiting to stake her claim.

                Above her—Sollux. Sollux and Karkat and Eridan and the others, who moved to watch after the start of the fight. But, mostly, Sollux.

                Sollux and his weird-as-fuck bi-colored whips.

                The blur of her wand as it snaps against the ground before his foot makes sense at last. He holds his hands out, motions to himself and smirks. Her eyes narrow. He jumps to the side—cartwheels—ends on his feet, uninjured. Her eyes narrow as the next attack comes. Her lip curls as it strikes air. He jabs his hand.

                The Balinsong sinks into the cracker of her whip and holds it on the ground. She yanks at it. Abandons it. The other comes at him. His other weapon finds its mark. From behind her back, she pulls a third shorter, thicker whip, snaps it. The thicker surface is harder to aim for. Caledscratch marks it. Dave charges. Rose falters.

                His knee strikes her gut. She rolls backward, falls onto the ground, gets back up. She punches his cheek. He blocks her punch. Lands his own. She trips him. He takes her ankles out. She lands on top of him. They roll for dominance. She punches his collarbone. He punches her stomach—

                She curls around her stomach. He steps away from her, retrieves his knives. Rose still hasn’t stood up. The doors haven’t opened. The fight is still “on”. He turns to the ledge overlooking the fight. Meenah stands there now along with Doc Scratch. Both are aged since he last saw them. Both have a knowing glint to feral eyes. Both are smirking. Doc Scratch says something. Meenah nods. The doors open. Paramedics come in and help pick up Rose. -A third gets her wand-whips. Dave stays put, glaring, daring. Meenah cracks a large smile and declares him the winner. He starts to walk to the door he is supposed to leave through, stops part-way there and glares again. Doc Scratch furrows his brow, then nods.

                Yes. This is the right timeline.

                No, that’s not what Dave asked. He doubts he would get the answer he wanted anyway.

                He steps through the door and is immediately ushered to the Infirmary to get stitches. He allows himself to be pushed along.

                He has to wait three hours before he is allowed into the Infirmary Room and even then it’s only because they are blood-related. Kanaya is sitting at her side with Roxy and Dirk at the edges of the room. There is something distinctly wrong with her, even as Rose cracks a slight smile.

                “Which one told you?” He asks.

                Rose closes her eyes and lays her head back. “I’ve… expected that something akin to the truth is what occurred…. I just didn’t expect to be correct.”

                “Which one told you?”

                “He has no name.”

                “ _His name is Doc Scratch and not a word out of his mouth is to be trusted_.”

                “He and I have been in contact since the beginning of SBurb Beta, if not a little before. I have the feeling he is the mysterious man with the white text on PesterChum.”

                He remembers white text. He doesn’t remember where from, as he can’t recall a singular conversation that they have had together, but he remembers white text and birthday presents and awkward, all-too-easy-to-break swords. He remembers the word _Suckers_. He remembers, most of all, engulfing, _ensnaring_ heat and fear, fear, fear, and then—nothing. “Rose… I’ve been in contact with him for sixteen years. Not a single thing that comes out of his mouth is to be trusted.”

                “Everything he says is true, Dave.”

                “That’s why he can’t be trusted.”

                “If everything he says is true, then why can’t we trust what he says?”

                “He _killed us_ Rose.”

                “Don’t be insane, Dave.”

                “ _Rose_ , I _know_ you’re Awake. I _saw_ your Awakened self, don’t you even _try_ to lie to me. You know as well as I the Tale of the Two Heroes. Doc Scratch _killed us_. The Tale of the Two Heroes is _our deaths_.”

                “Not necessarily _ours_ , Dave. Just two Derse denizens.”

                “With Grimdark wands and ever-changing swords? _He tricked us, Rose. He murdered us.”_

                “This is a new universe—“

                “ _It’s not, though!”_

 _“_ Why do you say so?”

                “ _It’s not a new universe_.”

                “But the Trolls live here-“

                “Just as well as you and I. I know. I… haven’t quite figured that out yet. But this isn’t a new universe, Rose.”

                “Then what _is_ it?”

                “A new timeline.”

                “Here we go with the new-timeline bullshit _all over again_.”

                “Rose. Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth. Before. I. Rip. Your. Lips. Off.”

                “Well? It’s _shut_.”

                “This is a new timeline, not a new universe. If it was a new universe, we wouldn’t look like what we did back then. If this was a new universe, everyone would have been reborn, but where are the exiles? They’re there to better us, bring out what we are so that we can survive—we should have met them by now! If this was a new universe, then why would Doc Scratch call me _Strider_? In this universe, I’m Winslow.”

                “I think you just divulged more information than what you meant originally, Dave.”

                “Well? Answer me.”

                “I don’t know, Dave. I don’t know.”

                Dirk harrumphs. “What _the fuck_ are you two talking about?”

                “You mean”—Rose furrows her brow as she looks to her uncle—“you don’t remember?”

                “It’s different for them, Rose,” Dave mutters. “Dirk is Heart. I think. Maybe? Oh, fuck,” he grips the foot of her bed and holds his forehead in his other hand. Kanaya reaches out and rests her hand on his. “I don’t remember what that means anymore. I don’t remember what it means.”

                “You’re pushing yourself, Dave.”

                “I know.”

                “Time comes easily to those born outside it,” she whispers. “But to those of us within it, we cannot navigate it. That’s the only reason why you know so much. You have had the unfortunate misfortune to relive it. But… us Seers… It appears we have begun to remember it long before the others.”

                “But… Terezi? Arapea? Arachnea? Adrania? What’s her name?”

                “Aranea. Aranea began to remember when she went through these trials. As did Meenah. Terezi shows signs of remembering, but…. I don’t know, Dave. I just don’t know.”

                “What the fuck.”

                “What’s wrong?”

                “I’m not even in the right _timeline_ , am I?”

                “No,” she smiles ever-so-sweetly. “No, I’m afraid you’re not.”

                “ _Fuck_. You’re a Seer, right?”

                “That I am.”

                “Of Knowledge or Intellect or _whatever_.”

                “Light, but it is basically the same principle.”

                “Then how do I get this under control?”

                “Train. Return to your other body.”

                “Other body?”

                “What? Did you think we would just have this conversation in any old timeline? Of course not. You’ve Shifted.”

                His entire body rocks and he lands on his knees in the arena. His solar plexis aches. He can hear the crowd cheering as he struggles to his feet. He turns to see Rose being lifted onto the stretcher. Doc Scratch smiles as they meet eyes. He turns and begins to walk away. His leg drags and he winces at the movement, but his blades are in his pocket. It’s worth it. Team 612 won.

                He thinks.

                He can’t tell right from left anymore.

                Karkat catches him by the shoulders as he falls in. He takes another step in, and another, and another. Dirk, who is, of course, absent from Rose’s bedside smiles at him and takes him from Karkat’s shoulders. He limps slowly to the Infirmary, where they patch up his cuts.

                Then, simply, they leave and Dirk kisses his forehead. Asks him how he feels.

                “How do you do that?”

                “Do what?”

                “Shift all the time.”

                “What about it?”

                “I feel like I was just pinned to a wall by a semi-truck, then rammed repeatedly. And worse. How do you do that so often?”

                “You get used to it.”

                “How can you tell when you do it?”

                “Sometimes I can’t. Most of the time, I can.”

                “Do you ever come back… feeling like you’ve remembered something you never learned?”

                “…sometimes.”

                “Dirk?”

                “You should sleep.”

                “ _Dirk_?”

                “What?”

                “Is my surname ‘Strider’?”

                There’s a pause. It stretches, does some limbo and pirouettes—it becomes a silence. Then, he leans down and kisses his forehead. “Which world do you want the answer to that to?”

                “All of them.”

                “…That’s a lot of yesses and nos.”

                “Well? The important one. _The_ most important one. The one that you include yourself in.”

                “You’re asking me if I think of you as a Strider.”

                “Sure.”

                “…yes.”

                He sighs and leans against him as best as he can in the awkward position the nurse left him in on the bed. Dirk kisses his forehead. “But in this world, you’re not. In most worlds, really, you’re not. Most worlds where you are Strider, you’re dead. Either because you died of old age before I was born or because I was shit at raising you or maybe just because you were shit at learning, I don’t know anymore, but you’re not here…. But you’re Strider to me, Dave. I can barely even think of you as Dave Winslow. Sorry, Steve Winslow. You’ve always just been Dave Strider to me.”

                “Always?”

                “Always. Now, get some sleep. You deserve it. Some of us just aren’t made to Shift. Your body is fitted for Travel, not Shifting. It’s a lot rougher, isn’t it?”

                “Yeah,” he chuckles breathlessly. “But Traveling ain’t no walk in the park either, dawlin’.”

                “Dave…. You know I love you, but get some sleep.”

                “Just… Can I ask you to do something really embarrassing?”

                “No, you can’t.” But, still, Dirk swings his legs up on the side of his bed and pulls him close. Dave hums, but reminds him to go to Rose after he falls asleep. Dirk says he will, of course he will, what kind of uncle would he be otherwise? And yet, he still waits there with him.

                He waits until he falls asleep before he goes to see Rose.

                It doesn’t matter, though, because Dave wakes on Derse to find himself surrounded by yaoi-wizard faux-fanfiction and MEOW. Rose is on her bed, knitting a scarf.

                “Well,” she murmurs, “you’re finally awake, Dear Knight of the Shining Castle.”

                “I’ve been Awake for a while, Court Seer.”

                She smiles at him and pats the bed beside her. He moves over to her. “We’re speaking of two different forms of awakening, Dave. But, nevertheless, I wish to thank you.”

                “Why?”

                “For putting me in the infirmary.”

                “Why?”

                “It appears that while they were checking me and caring for my wounds, they found something peculiar. And one peculiarity, of course, leads to another. I have cancer.”

                “ _What_?”

                “I have cancer. Stage two. Lymphoma. Hodgkin’s, but cancer nonetheless.”

                “Whoa. What?”

                “I. Have. Cancer. Need I reiterate?”

                “Yes. A lot. Like, for the next twenty-four hours _a lot_.”

                “I have cancer.”


	25. Chapter 25

                As soon as the Shift-whip-lash wears off, Dave goes straight to Rose’s infirmary room. She is asleep, deeply, and Kanaya has her head cradled on Rose’s stomach. She appears to be asleep, too. In the corner of the room, Dirk has his arm around Roxy’s shoulders. She’s tired, dead to the world as she stares at the woman she birthed sixteen years ago.

                “How are you holding up?” Dave asks quietly. Dirk offers a small smirk and rubs Roxy’s arm. She stirs enough so that she finally notices him.

                “Uh… we’re still waiting for the results, if that’s what you asked.”

                “Oh really? Rose knows what she has, though….. Even if it is, y’know, subconsciously…”

                “Did she tell you?” Dirk asks and for the first time in a long time Dave notices the lack of infliction in his voice. Maybe Dirk is finally getting out of his Shifts… or maybe Dave is just paying more attention. He doesn’t know. Both are equally plausible. “They put her under to examine her stomach. She hasn’t woken since.”

                “Cancer. Stage Two Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Her Derse-self thinks that she won’t need chemo. It, evidently, hasn’t spread and the lump isn’t _that_ big. But, that can change at any moment.”

                “So, a surgery.”

                “Maybe.”

                He turns to look at his sister on the bed. He sees Kanaya’s radiance, practically glowing white against grey skin. Thick, beautiful lips made round by constant biting until blood is pulled. She's the kind of white purity that comes after the matter. Then, he sees Rose’s grimdark form—black skin of the turmoil cancer brings against white hair, the stark contrast of someone all too accustomed to relying only on herself and forcing her friends away to keep them safe. But, that isn’t the job of the Seer. It’s the job of the Knight.

                Dave isn’t sure what’s more startling. Rose’s grimdark-cancer or the fact that he can’t look at Kanaya without seeing grey skin, pointed teeth and a rainbow-drinker’s glowing light.

                Or, maybe, it’s the fact that he remembers Rose dying because of her rash grimdark behavior last time.

                (But, was there ever, truly, a “last time”?)

\-----------------

                Karkat grunts as their swords make contact. He nods twice, throws Dave away and takes a moment to catch his breath. “Your offense is good,” he condones, “but you need to work on defense. They might not need to be equal, but”—he shrugs—“you need to be better. The level you are at currently is ridiculous.”

                “Well,” he spits. “Let’s do this until I get it down.”

\-----------------

                Dave doesn’t notice the week go by. He focuses on training the useless muscles in his body until they are sore and he can block the most complex of attacks. He doesn’t notice each and every member of his team get their asses handed to them on a silver platter. He does notice, however, that everyone is in an equally bloodied and messy state when he comes in from training with Karkat. They look miserable.

                “We don’t even want to fight them!” Nepeta moans quietly and presses the icepack in her hand to the swelling on Equius’ for-head. He hisses. “But they keep requesting remeowtches. If everyone loses against them, what’ll happen?”

                “We’ll be disqualified,” Karkat supplies. “And then culled.”

                “I’ll fight next. I’m assuming that everyone else has fought anyway, so I’m last, right?”

                “They even beat Karkitty, Dave.” She whispers. “Are you sure?”

                “Karkat was covered, head-to-toe, in blood. His new moniker _is_ the Knight of Blood because of that. If even he can’t beat them, you guys can’t. But I can give it a try.”

                “If you lose, we’re culled,” the Knight of Blood points out.

                “If we refuse a challenge, we’re culled anyway. So I’ll just not-lose.”

                “You have _no idea_ who these people are, do you?”

                “No.”

                “KK, don’t,” Sollux starts. “It’ll be better if he doesn’t know. Don’t psych him out now.”

                Karkat purses his lips but nods. Dave hums. Who could possibly be beating all of them? The losing fights even began with Feferi, who is one of their best fighters!

\-----------------

                His next fight day finally comes around. He nervously rubs his palms against his legs, waiting, waiting, _always waiting_ —

                The doors slide open.

                There, before him, are three sisters. Agatha, Gertrude and Bethany Gaspard. The Gaspard Sisters; the three women who “raised” him in the orphanage. Gertrude and Bethany kiss Agatha’s cheeks before retreating. Agatha Gaspard stands before him.

                He unsheathes Caledscratch. Agatha pulls out one whip and leaves her pistol in the waist-holder. “Why hello there,” she greets. “It has been a long time, Thirteen.”

                “It hasn’t been _nearly_ long enough, Miss Gaspard.”

                “Glad to see you remember me.”

                “How could I forget a face as fucking ugly as yours?”

                “Ever the polite one. You were always my favorite.”

                Dave launches forward. He slashes at her hip. She dodges. The whip scratches his the back of his shirt open. He hisses. She cackles— _fucking cackles_. ( A madwoman running an orphanage, the dangerous edge of a knife pointed in _just the right way_ that the front of Dave’s wrist is cut as he attempts to clean it up, beating, beating, painpainpain _pain_ as the madwoman beats him. ) His movements are jerky. He forgets blocking. She deflects it. Caledscratch flies. He kicks. She snaps the whip. ( _“You have no friends. You have no name. You have no life. You have no_ meaning _. You are a_ Troll _!”_ ) His back hits the ground. He rolls. Caledscratch is in his hand. He knicks her shirt, not her skin, just her shirt, and she cackles again. His cheek bursts open under the edge of the whip. ( _“Don’t defy me, Troll!” A slap, and another, and he’s being picked up, tossed, where is he?_ Where is he _? Why… why is there no floor? Oh, please, please, no, no,_ no _, not this place again—not_ here _—anywhere but_ here _._ ) He lunges.

                Karkat’s voice calls to him. Somewhere in the distance. He hears the man scream. Scream something incoherent. He can’t make it out. It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language. Words? What’s English? That is obviously an Alien Language.

                Agatha throws his sword away again, but she’s convincing enough to “allow” him to grab it again. He does so. This has to be a fair fight. Who is he kidding?

                There is a hand on his collar. His collar. Holding him out over the precipice. The same one that he nearly fell off of against Rose. Only….

                “Oh God no, please, no.” He clings to her wrist. He kicks wildly, but her arm is _just long enough_. He can kick the rock. He can’t get on. She is his only lifeline. It feels like the world is falling around him. No one is breathing. Everyone is waiting for Agatha Gaspard to drop him.

                _"Keep your head in the game when you fight a woman named Agatha Gaspard,_ ok? _I got so pissed when I was fighting her that if it wasn’t for Karkat, I would be dead right now._ ”

                Yeah. A little late, Theta-Dave.

                “Four is correct, Thirteen,” Agatha smirks. She lifts her nose, looking down at him. She teases him, releases her hand just long enough for him to jerk. His eyes squeeze shut. She does it again. His glasses slip off of one ear. She casually plucks them from his face and they clatter on the ground somewhere in front of him, behind the woman. “You should have calmed down.”

                And he’s falling.

                He’s falling and that’s all he can tell. All he can hear is the air ripping past him. All he can see is the top of the cliff grow farther, _farther, farther_. There is no feeling. There is no feeling except for the flame licking at his lungs. He can’t breathe.

                _( The rush of concrete, the beeping of carhorns, the shouts of angry neighbors stuck in a highrise together…. A seven-year-old Dave forces a sword into the wall of the apartment building. It’s his first broken sword, the first to mark a trend of many, but all he can do is cling there and cry. Five minutes, ten, thirty, he slowly manages to jump to a window, sword in tow, and climb back to the top. Bro clings to him. Neither of them mention the incident again.)_

Caledscratch is in the stone. Dave gasps and clings, shivering and panting as he holds on for dear life. Then, he grabs ahold of the rock. And another. His feet slip in place.

 

 

                People are screaming for her. Cheering. Teammates of people that have lost against Team 612. People who honestly like Agatha’s fighting style. Almost everyone is. Everyone, except for the Trolls… and Team 1111. They sit in the front row, all nineteen of them, and stare on in silence. And silence.

                And they burst into cheering as Dave pulls himself to his knees on the cliff-side. His fingers curl into the rock. Agatha, deafened by the noise she spreads her arms open to receive, doesn’t hear him panting or even hear his teeth clack together as he shakes. She doesn’t hear him take a deep breath. Doesn’t hear him tilt his head back, lift his finger to his lips and smirk. But, most certainly, she does not hear it when he slips to his feet. She doesn’t hear it as he flips his Balinsongs open. She doesn’t hear it.

                But he hears the crowd go silent.

                He hears Theta-Dave in his ears, reminding him to keep calm.

                He hears Karkat screaming at him to do the same, only it’s within his mind—and it must be pretty bad if he was so angered that even the King of Constant Rage has to tell him to calm down.

                He hears the sound of the gunshot as the Balinsong Karkat gifted to him slices through her Achilles tendon. He hears her pained scream as she falls down, sees the disgusting lump in her calf from where it bundled, and he hears her crying. He hears the sound of the future beckoning.

                He also hears the sound of a whip cracking at him, right in front of him. He hears the sound of the future beckoning.

                He hears the sound of His Future Beckoning, too, as he opens his mouth and calls her first name over the call of the crowd. In that instant, all is silent.

                She turns, ever so slowly, and stares. And he smirks. And, just like that, the whip cracks in front of him. He sidesteps it. She cracks, one after another, another, another, _another_ —she cries out as he carefully dodges each attack until he’s close enough in range to attack. And he does. She falls back, clutching her collarbone. Snaps the whip. A swing of a blade. The crack of a gunshot as the clacker at the end of the whip hits. The spurt of blood.

                Silence.

                He looks down at his feet. Agatha is lying there. When did this happen? Agatha is staring up at him, dead eyes. Blood… there is blood _everywhere_.

                He just killed her.

                “My name,” he says slowly, so that it will be the last words she ever hears. “Is Dave _motherfucking_ Strider.”

                Whatever light in her eyes is left is gone by the end of the word. Dave turns to the door waiting to welcome him into his team’s safehouse. By the time he’s there, everyone else has gathered in front of the door. They look ready to say something. They start, but like Moses parting the Red Sea, they stop and pull away. They pull as far away from him as possible. At the end of the line, Karkat comes from the front and wraps his arm around Dave’s waist, forcing Dave’s arm over his shoulders. Together, they limp into the infirmary.

                Dave’s ears ring as he is escorted to the infirmary—and further. He’s settled into one of the beds and the paramedic wipes his face clean of the blood. _Blood? Why is he bloodied?_ _Did he fall and land on his face? How uncool—how unironic._

He’s released, at long last, and Karkat retakes his position. The others are waiting outside of the door, but this time Team 1111 is standing with them. And, there, at last, Dirk steps forward and takes Dave from Karkat. He wraps his arm around Dave’s waist, taking up the same position Karkat had held only a moment before. He feels less numb. He feels like life is seeping back into him.

                Dirk escorts him out of the building. He takes him into the forest—through the forest—to the very end of the forest.

                He wraps his arms around Dave after they get to Their Tree—the same one they climbed for the first time only two weeks ago. Dave sinks to the ground, pulling Dirk with him. Dirk sits against the tree trunk. Dave shakes violently, clinging to Dirk’s chest. He finds his heartbeat with his ear. Dirk chuckles and kisses his forehead. He hums something unintelligent, something to pass the time, but Dave has heard it before. He heard is somewhere… played it somewhere? Whatever it is, the tune slowly sinks into Dave’s muscles. His eyes are heavy, his muscles leaden, and he doesn’t want to move. Ever. In the next four centuries.

                “How do you think you’re fairing, Bro?” Dirk asks quietly.

                Dave shrugs his shoulders. “I’m still really shaken up over the fall. I don’t know how I kept fighting afterward. Everything feels surreal. Am I really here? Did I Shift or something?”

                “Maybe,” Dirk whispers. “But if you did, you’ve already Shifted back.”

                “Dirk…?”

                “What?”

                “I think I did Shift. Or, all the nonsense is finally catching up to me.”

                “Why?”

                “No reason,” he whispers. “And it has nothing to do with being a Winslow. Nothing at all.”

                “What was that? I think I heard you say ‘Strider’, but I’m not too sure.”

                “When… when she was dying, I said something to her.”

                “What was it?”

                “My name is Dave Strider.”

                “But it is.”

                “ _No_ it’s _not_.”

                “Yes it is.”

                “ _No_ , Dirk, _it’s not_.”

                “Say it. Say it again.”

                “No it’s not.”

                “Not that part, you little shit.”

                “My name is Dave Strider?”

                “Again.”

                “My name is Dave Strider….”

                “Again.”

                “My name is Dave Strider.”

                “ _Again_.”

                “My name is Dave Strider!”

                “ _Again_.”

                Dave pulls away to look him in the eye. “My name is motherfucking Dave Strider! Stop making me fucking repeat that, Bro! You’re being an idiot about something like this!”

                “ _Exactly_.”

                Dave blinks at Dirk. The sunlight catches his eye and he winces, but Dirk is considerate enough to push his glasses onto the back of his head and return the favor. Slowly, Dave relaxes and rests his head on Dirk’s collarbone. “That song you were humming earlier, what’s it called?”

                “I honestly don’t think that it has a name. Mockingbird’s Retreat?”

                “How do you know it?”

                “I sang it to you when you were a kid…. And you had it recorded so I could listen to it when I was a kid.”

                He chuckles lightly. “Yeah, when we were in the high-rise, I remember now. But I don’t remember ever being there for you. I died before you were born, right?”

                “Mmhmm.”

                “We were… brothers, right?”

                “As far as I remember.”

                “So… is what we have just… brotherly or… y’know… _us_?”

                “Us.”

                “Why?”

                “Because in other lives, we loved each other, too. We just never acted on it. Because we had already told the world that we were brothers.”

                “But in this timeline we’re not.”

                Dirk shrugs. “Maybe that’s why we are finally together.”

                “…took us long enough.”

                “Your voice stopped shaking.”

                “It was?”

                “Yes. Really bad.” He places a chaste kiss to Dave’s forehead. “You’re better though. So, your first kill.”

                “Mmhmm.”

                “How bad did you want to piss yourself?”

                “Pretty damn bad!” He laughs, then nuzzles Dirk against his neck when he releases Dave’s head again. “You make this sound like some sort of walk in the park! I’m a mess over here.”

                “My first kill was when I was your age.”

                “Fuckin’ Hell, Bro, not another one of _those_ stories! Next thing you know, you’ll be tellin’ me _all about_ how you walked to school five miles each day, uphill both ways, _through_ the snow!”

                “Hey, you little shit! Let me finish!”

                “Oh, of course. I’m humbly bowing to you for ironic reasons, Dirk. Please, tell me more.”

                “I was your age when I killed someone. Didn’t even mean to. ‘Er name was Justine Moritz. I don’t really remember much else other than she smiled at me as she was dying. Holy fuck, I flipped my shit afterward. Roxy couldn’t even get me to cool my tits. I had to go for a walk. Met a random guy while I was out. Took me to this tree.”

                “Did he have his way with you?”

                “Yes. We fucked for three hours.”

                Dave smacks his shoulder. Dirk chuckles, pushes him down and lays him out on the ground before joining him. From here, Dave has a perfect view of the top of their tree. The streams of sunlight glimmer in the green dew on the leaves and cast long rainbows over the place. Dave feels like a fruit just lying there, but Dirk doesn’t seem to mind it at all.

                “Why do you ask?”

                “Because if another man was able to make you moan like I can, I would have reason to get jealous.”

                Dirk snorts. “Trust me; you don’t need to get jealous. Besides, even if you had the right to, it was thirteen _years_ ago.”

                “I’m confused, hold up. You’re how old now?”

                “Twenty-eight.”

                “And you were how old when you joined SBurb Alpha?”

                “I joined when I was thirteen, but I was a participant in it until I was seventeen.”

                “So this lasted _four years_ last time?”

                “Yes.” He whistles. Dirk chuckles. “This is also the reason why Rose and John have Kentucky birth certificates.”

                “Awkward. That’s more than awkward. That’s a motherfucking _awkward turtle_. No, that’s not even it. It’s their ironic awkward turtle-babies.”

                “How do you sign that?”

                He holds his fists in the air and wiggles his thumbs and pinkies. Dirk chuckles and kisses Dave until he admits that he needs the silence. Dirk lets him shift around for a while before he settles for being under his arm, his nose pressed into his side and the steady feel of blood through Dirk’s shoulder is in his ear. He wraps one arm around Dirk’s waist.

                “So, I’ve been thinking,” Dave whispers. Dirk hums. He knows that he was heard that way. “For… whatever Christmas we next have together outside of this place… we… we shouldn’t get each other presents.”

                “Why’s that?”

                “I was thinkin’… maybe we could go out together and find one of those weird mattresses. The one that changes how hard it is depending on what number you set it on? That way, we can sleep on the same mattress, y’know? And- and still both be comfortable.”

                This is a very hard question to ask.

                Who just asks to go buy a new mattress with someone?

                “Sure.”

                It’s like asking someone to spend the entirety of their life together—or, maybe, just the next decade.

                “Cool.”

                It’s a promise.

                “I’d like that.”

                It’s a promise, just as much as an engagement ring would be.

                “You better, you self-entitled prick.”

                Though, Dave likes the practicality of a mattress more than a ring.

                “Would you ever be interested in becoming a _legal_ Strider in this—world, universe, timeline, _whatever_?”

                Some things have pretty laces and bows that even Dave is ironically attracted to, though.

                “Like, marriage? And shit?”

                Even things that Dave can’t find within himself to care about matter with Dirk.

                “Yeah, like marriage.”

                And, these things tend to make Dave blush.

                “Yeah, like marriage.”

                And, these things tend to make Dirk blush, too.

                (Just tell no one about it later.)

\-----------------

                Team 612 and 1111 have the tendency to whole up together in Team 612’s living space. Those that are together have the decency to let the others not see them making out in the sitting area, instead insisting on taking use of one of the closest bedrooms.

                In Dave’s happens to be the place that he and Dirk are at when someone slightly older than Jane knocks on the door. He is wearing a white suit with a green shirt. In his age, his hair has turned white prematurely and he is so pale in the skin that the green of his eyes seems almost neon. He holds his hands behind his lower back and speaks with his shoulders squared, but at the same time he doesn’t seem cocky.

                He asks Jane to retrieve “Mister Strider” for him. A knock, a cacophony of sounds later and finally Dave manages to open the door. He has no shirt on, neither does he have his glasses (which are still on the battlefield) nor his shoes on, leaving him in only his jeans and a partially done-up belt. Behind him, Dirk looks somewhat better what with his glasses on. His shirt is on, but unbuttoned and a red-mark is forming on his chest. Dave is, however, much more composed than Dirk.

                “Ah, I was wondering when you would show your face, Doc,” Dave smirks and nods his head briefly as he leans against the doorframe. Doc Scratch arches his eyebrows and looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t, instead choosing his words carefully.

                “The Lord of the Game wishes to see you, Strider,” he explains carefully, his eyes flicking between the two men before him briefly. “He wishes… to share a word with you.”

                Dave holds his hand up, pressing against Dirk’s chest to stop him. Dirk seems to understand then. “What does he want to talk about?” Dave asks.

                “A sword and a scratch.”

                “I’ll be there in a second.”

                “But, Strider—“

                “I’ll be there in a second. You have all the time in the world, right, Doc? You know everything that’s going to happen before it does and long after it did. Waiting a second won’t change any of that. The least you can let me do is get dressed.”

                “Please hurry, Strider. The Lord is a very busy man.”

                “Well then tell Meenah to calm her tits. It’s not like I’m telling her to do give up the keys to her kingdom or any of that shit.”

                “I’m afraid Meenah Peixes is not the Lord, Mister Strider.”

                “Why would he talk to me when he can just send his decoy in?” He turns around and goes to grab his shirt. He emerges with his shoes and clothes in place, his glasses still gone, and he crosses the room, leaving without them.

                Roxy turns to look at Dirk after Dave leaves. “So,” she says, “when is the wedding?”

                He flips her off and shuts the door behind him. Roxy, Jane and Jake chuckle at his action. Dirk presses his forehead to the door, hiding. (Nepeta watches with a worried look because since when do people just _come in_ and _take someone_ even if it’s for someone important? Will her baby be alright?)

                Dave walks back into the sitting area two and a half hours after he left. A new sword—one no one has ever seen before—is in his hand and there is blood on his forehead. Karkat manages to greet him before Nepeta catches him on his fall to earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> people are starting to die. :)
> 
> Not much longer now~


	26. Chapter 26

                Dave wakes feeling nauseous and filthy, wondering where he was and how he got to be on Nepeta’s lap with Dirk not far away, on the other side of the couch, leaning over the back of it. Nepeta is pushing her fingers through his blood-matted hair and murmuring a song in a language he sort-of understands, but not well enough to speak it. It’s ancient, Daedric, and guttural, but Dave finds comfort in hearing it after so long.

                “Welcome back, baby,” she whispers when she notices him waking up. “How are you doing?”

                “Ok, I think.”

                “You came back and passed out. Do you remember what happened while you were away?”

                He shakes his head slowly, grimaces and gags on the bile in his throat. “No. No not at all. Nothing. Nothing but that—that Royal Deringer”—he sits up and looks around. He jerks and gags into his hand. Dirk claps his hand on his shoulder as he coughs hurriedly.

                “The sword is in your room,” he supplies. “Lie back. You’re not doing well.”

                He makes a small agreeing noise in the back of his throat and lies back. Nepeta hugs him, rubs his temples and murmurs more in that brute language. Dave tries to steady his breathing. No one says anything for hours, letting the time pass. Dave fades in and out of consciousness. He sees flashes of Purple Derse, flashes of Yellow Prospit, a green ball of flames, a war-destroyed chess board and, most of all, he sees a man that cannot die. And, then again, Lord English already has, hasn’t he…?

\------------------

                After Dave confesses to the amnesia, no one asks where he went or why he left. They merely ask about the golden-hilted sword he has named “Royal Deringer”. He sits for hours in the living room, running the polish rag up the sides, caring for it, looking at every nook and cranny. Karkat sits with him sometimes and does the same to his scythes. Most of the time, he’s alone, the epitome of a mysterious equation locked within the bog of an unyielding swamp.

                He doesn’t talk often afterward. He doesn’t strike up conversations, only holds them, and the most he has spoken about is that he remembers getting his sunglasses when he got Royal Deringer when prompted by Dirk. Who, as it seems, is completely comfortable in the unusual silence. He doesn’t feel compelled to open a conversation or to even make any outward notice of the lack thereof. There are moments in time where Dirk’s or Dave’s lips quirk and they snort—usually, it happens simultaneously, like some sort of a joke has been passed between the both of them. It’s disturbing.

                The first time that they really get any amount of emotional reaction out of Dave, it’s when Nepeta asks him and Karkat to take a fight with her. He smirks and flicks his thumb over the tip of the sword. It cuts the pad of his thumb, but not nearly far enough to make him bleed. He asks what time their fight begins. She giggles, thanks him and kisses his cheek before going off to find Karkat.

                It’s the first time that Dave has ever stood in the room between the Fighters Only room and the actual arena with someone at his side. The place is small and it feels as if he is suffocating. Deringer rests in his hand, sharp enough to cut air and it almost seems to hum. Karkat spins his scythes around until the blur seems to make almost a black globe. Nepeta hums light heartedly and picks at her nails, getting brown-black dirt out from underneath them. The door opens at last. Dave and Karkat leave together, matching each other’s step and stride. Nepeta makes up the rear, happily humming as she daydreams.

                The fight is called and their enemy---a group of about twelve people in red armor suits—exits the other side. Some of them have odd symbols on their shirts like a whirlpool from the top, a mask (or is that a bomb?), a pair of wings, but most of them have a three-pronged white fork. All of them, regardless of their chest piece, have the same white fork on their helmets, splitting off where the slots for the eyeholes are. There are no mouth holes. Just nose holes.

                Dave has absolutely no trouble in mowing them down, nor does Karkat. Nepeta takes them out with gentle grace.

                They stand, nine-to-three, after half an hour. They are out of breath, heavy headed and the others don’t seem affected at all. Dave’s side aches from where a whip cracked against his side. Karkat is favoring his leg and Nepeta is light on her feet, as always, never one to be weighed down by physical pain. Dave slices at the bodies the best he can. Deringer removes one of their arms. Another loses their head. He has killed again. He feels like he’s going to be sick. But, they’re going for his own neck. They’re going for Karkat’s. Most of all, they’re going for Nepeta’s. And, if they win and Dave’s side is to lose, they’ll go for the others. He has to protect them. They know what they signed up for. At least he is considerate enough not to prolong their deaths.

                “ _Dave! Karkitty!”_

He freezes. Karkat hisses behind him. He turns to the voice slowly. There are only two more left. And, between them, Nepeta has her hands forced behind her back and a knife to her throat. Karkat drops his defenses. Dave swallows—

                He lunges. Karkat growls beneath him, punching wildly, red in the face, fighting to get him off. “ _You fucking bastard! You were supposed to be watching her! You were supposed to be protecting her!”_

Karkat punches him across the cheek. “ _So were you, numbnuts! I thought you had her back! You fucking abandoned her you piece of shit! How could you do this to your mother!”_

Dave spits out the blood beside Karkat’s head, mixing in with the dirt. Karkat coughs and gags underneath the hand Dave has pressed into his neck. Nepeta screams at them, telling them not to give up—there are only two left—please, no, no, boys, don’t, _you two are brothers—don’t do this to each other!_

                The point of a sword presses into Dave’s back. He unconsciously loosens his hold on Karkat’s neck as he freezes. Deringer is too far away. He mouths one word to Karkat and closes his eyes.

                The spray of blood is expected.

                It’s warm and thick and awkward on Dave’s back. Karkat stands over him, growling at the dead knight that now lay beside Dave. He rolls to his feet, grabs Deringer and throws the Balinsong he slipped into his hand immediately before attacking Karkat. It hits its mark in the chest of the knight holding Nepeta captive. Karkat straightens his back and rubs his neck. “Thanks for the fucking _warning_ , dipshit,” he yells.

                Dave laughs, holds out a brofist and smirks as Karkat returns it. Then, he points at his ear and tells him that his aide is loose. Karkat flips him off and fidgets with it as Nepeta approaches. She pulls them into a three-body hug and pulls away, handing Dave back his knife.

                “You two did _purr_ fectly,” she congratulates. “I’m very proud of you two!” Then, she pulls away, reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pack of gum, as if they weren’t in the center of a circle of twelve dead bodies. She offers them a piece. Karkat turns it down, but Dave shrugs and takes one, blows a bubble, instantly pops it and chuckles as she jumps and hisses at him.

                _Then again,_ Dave thinks, _this could be pretty common depending on where you’re from. Like, say, a cavernous orphanage vying to be adopted._

                (Over them, on The Ledge, stand Meenah and Doc Scratch, but Dave is the only one that notices them. He pops a second bubble in their direction just so they know.)

\-----------------

                Feferi throws her head back and laughs. Eridan catches her as she nearly falls. Vriska sits back on the armchair and returns to reading some sort of trashy pirate novel. She smirks at them, though, and Dave drops Deringer against the side arm as thanks. “Oh my Gog!” Feferi gasps, wiping the tears from her eyes, “oh my Gog I can’t believe that those stupid drones thought that you two were serious when you did that!”

                “Did you just say ‘Gog’?” Dave returns.

                “Well, mom said that God abandoned us, right?” She smiles, toothily, and if you looked just right there is a hint of a fang there, right in the front, but then again all the Trolls have them. All of the Trolls except Dave. “So what’s the point in even mentioning his name? I tried to stop in the first week, but we’re so used to saying it that it’s almost like it’s become part of us! So, why not change it? So, I started saying Gog. I mean,” she laughs lightly, “it’s not like Gog exists! Oh, well,” her lips pull away and she looks like she’s pondering something serious. “Unless it’s some sort of alien god! But oh well. Then, I guess we’re praying to an alien god!”

                “Whatever,” Dave rolls his eyes. “Listen, Kark, you up for training tonight?”

                “Yeah, I’ll come by a lil’ later. I, uh… want to… t-talk with Terezi.”

                “Kay. Yo, TZ, take care of your boy here.”

                “I’ve got it _all_ under control, coolkid.”

                He nods his head and takes Deringer back up, leaving the room. He detours, taking the long way to the roof. The long-long way, as in—he takes a left turn into an Employee’s Only room to see the head of the Drones. The man has straw-like, choppy-in-the-back-gelled-in-the-front black hair. His green eyes are dotted with red blood vessels that have burst throughout his years of life. He has sharp canines and indents on his lower lip where they rest. He has the blood of an Arabian man, so he has a dark, almost-Mediterranean, tanned skin. He looks pissed off, as if he has been stuck with the most incompetent job there is. His red helmet is beside him on the table and, over all, his candy-apple-red armor (the same color as the others’) has no mark on it. It doesn’t even have a fork on the chest.

                The man sees him and slowly his face relaxes into something somewhat neutral. “How did you know I would be here?”

                “You were here last time, too.”

                “Last time?”

                “Yeah. I saw you just after I met Lawrence. Up there”—he points at the staircase that dominates the room. Beyond it, there are three doors: one in the center, which leads to a ledge, the other two, which he has no clue the whereabouts of which they lead. “You were younger then, though.”

                “Yes,” he smiles gently and his thumb plays with the tip of his tooth. “Yes, I was young then. And stupid. I didn’t think you saw me.”

                “It took me a few days to realize I had.”

                “Well? What is it you want?”

                He kicks the chair on the other side of the table out and sits in it. “Start talking.”

                He looks tired, Dave realizes now that he’s gotten closer. He looks like that kind of tired that doesn’t want to watch any more fighting. Like he wants peace after a long war. Maybe, Dave thinks, this is just what he needs. He just needs to get everything off his chest.

                “What about?”

                “What is a Scratched Session?”

                “You want to know the Hidden Rules.”

                “Sure.”

                “There are a few. Team Alliance. Team Fight. Team Enemies. Team Reconcile. Team Reset. Scratch Session. And, of course, Personal and Team Withdrawal. You already know the first three. Team Reset is something where you can ask The Lord to take team members from other teams and recreate your own. You get new Leaders, new information, new keys to help you access the different rooms. This is really helpful if you have Team Alliances, too. So, on the supposition that Team 612 and Team 1111 were to suddenly, Gog forbid, dwindle down to where there are only four of you left, you can ask for a Team Reset. Because you’re allied, the four of you would become a whole new team.

                “A Personal Withdrawal will take you out of your team. You can ask to stay in the game but no longer participate in fighting _with_ your team and instead take the risk of fighting against them. That puts you under my regime. A variety of other things will also place you here, but that is the only one that goes with a Hidden Rule.

                “A Team Withdrawal does _not,_ in fact, result in culling as The Lord has made you think. Last night, did you hear any unusual clamber? Like, say…. Sword fighting?”

                “I was training on the roof.”

                “I’ve noticed that your fighting skill has improved. _I_ was impressed, but that’s not saying much. It’s not me y’gotta impress. It’s Meenah and Aranea, mostly Meenah… Ok, completely Meenah. Anyway, if you had been under the roof and quiet, you would have heard one Team Withdrawal. You have to fight each other. To the death. And, if that’s what happens, then you die. But, if you’re unlucky enough to catch Meenah’s eye during the fighting—or even before it, in these Rounds—you come to me. It’s my job to train you and make you Drones for The Lord… and Meenah. Mostly Meenah. Ok, almost completely Meenah. I’m here to make sure you don’t die. If you die under my command, then you were either an idiot, you forgot your training, or there was never any hope for training you.

                “I think that’s it, isn’t it? Oh, no, you wanted to know about a Scratched Session. Those don’t come in until we’re at around twenty-five teams, so right now none of the Team Leaders know what it is unless they were the Leader in Alpha. That means that only those working for the Arena and Roxy Lalonde currently know what it is. Of course, this either means that Roxy didn’t tell anyone or her daughter knows. Y’know. One of the two.”

                “No. Roxy wouldn’t have told her, not yet. She probably has a letter stashed away somewhere in case she dies before she can tell Rose, but otherwise she wouldn’t have told Rose. Not before she needs to know.”

                “Welp, that clears that up. Anyway, what happens is that, when we hit the approximate amount of teams, The Lord’s Right-Hand Woman begins something she calls The Great Culling. Basically, she takes the teams that are good at fighting and keeps them, tossing the rest. Usually, if someone pisses her off like, oh, say— _you—_ she usually tosses that team too. She likes her Drones. She does not like it when they die without too much of a fight. Anything under two hours against her Drones is not permitted. Well, if you want a Scratched Session… you bring that team back. There’s only one case of that ever happening.”

                “And when was that, Mister Vantas?”

                The smile spreads on his chapped lips and his canine rests on top of his lip. “That would be my own. Though, in the end, that was what made us have to stop the Alpha Fighting. It’s a double-edged sword, Mister Strider. Oh, wait, you still go by Wilson or Winslow or whatever, right?”

                “No. I go by Strider. Unofficially.”

                “That’s good to hear. I’m happy to see you returning to who you used to be, Dave.”

                “Used to be?”

                He lifts his finger to his lips and shushes him. “Not everyone forgot, Dave. In fact, one of your mothers remembers everything.”

                He furrows his brow at the older man. To his side, two men—neither of them particularly taller than Dave himself—walk up the staircase. Each of them is dressed in the knight armor of the drones and both of them have their helmets on so Dave can’t see their faces. On the chest of one, a cog lies. On the chest of the other, some sort of slash lies with three drops. Dave has seen these symbols so many times by now that he isn’t surprised to see either. They make it to the top of the stairs, matching each other’s step and stride, turn right and enter the door there, before Mister Vantas talks again.

                “Do you think you’ll go through with that if you have to, Strider?”

                “Why did you have to stop fighting last time?”

                “Well, we have our very own Hero of Time in our midst, Strider. And you’re not the only one able to move your entire being and that of many others through the timeline. So, when we requested the Scratched Session, we asked for a specific session that had not yet occurred. We asked for _your_ session.”

                “So now what happens since you have our session?”

                He laughs heartily. “No, no, no, dear Strider! You misunderstand!” There’s a glint in his eyes as they narrow. His lips pull again until all he can see is the tip of his canines. Dave swears they are covered in every color in the rainbow and a few blurs in-between… but they’re not. They’re white. He knows something that Dave doesn’t. “The session we asked for hasn’t _happened_ yet.”

                “But I thought you said that you asked for our session.”

                “No. We asked for _yours_. And, when they pointed out that your session doesn’t exist yet, we were asked to select two more. So, we asked for your husband’s. And we asked for your brother’s.”

                His eyes widen slowly. “You adopted them because you knew that they were on the team that was going to save your life.”

                “Partially. The other part is that we didn’t want them to die, so we trained them. The last part on the overall is that we sincerely _love_ our children. We know what happened in that place. Well, everyone but my mother, who happens to be… ah, what’s her name, now…. Yes, Kanaya. She happens to be Kanaya’s adoptive mother as well. She is, technically, both of ours. Long story there, I don’t like to go into it. And, of course, there’s also what happened between Karkat and myself, but that’s not important. Well, no, I _guess_ mom sort-of knows, but she didn’t get a lot of shit for it, simple as that. She was a Troll only in namelessness.”

                “What happened?”

                “I don’t like to talk about it. Don’t push it.”

                “So, can I just request the”—he’s distracted for the moment when he hears a door open. It’s the one on the left, though. Out of it walks Aradia’s mother and beside her stands Rose. She’s tall in her posture and her shoulders are straight. Her chin, too, is pointed, like she’s prepared to die to do something correctly. But, at the same time, she’s not sixteen. There is no way that she can be. She’s seventeen, maybe eighteen? Regardless, she stops in her tracks when she sees him, turns to face him and wipes at her eyes. She looks like she has seen a ghost.

                She mouths two words down to him. He can’t make them out clearly but it doesn’t matter because Aradia’s mom tugs on her elbow. The older (younger?) woman shakes her head and Aradia’s mom motions to the door that the knights went through earlier. Rose rips her arm away from her, folds nearly double over the railing and shouts to him. Her voice breaks and it sounds like she wants to cry. “ _How old are you?!”_

“Sixteen!” He shouts back. She looks stricken, like something inside of her breaks as he answers. She falls to her knees and clings to the rails that line the upper foyer. She presses her skin into it, quivering, and—and is that a sob? Is she crying? From seeing him?

                _Why?_

                She’s older now. What’s the big deal with him being here right now— oh.

                “I- I’m dead?” He whispers.

                “Everyone dies, Strider,” Mister Vantas smiles sadly. “But, don’t you worry. She has come to the past. You haven’t gone to the future. In fact, she is in the middle of a very important business transaction. That’s all I know. I don’t even _understand_ how the hell Timelines and loops and whatever it is you time-runners call them. I just know Future-Rose is in her-Past and everything that the beautiful woman up on the loft has told me. It’s not much.”

                “Who… who else dies?”

                “I can’t tell you that, Dave.”

                “ _Why_?”

                “Because you have to die.”

                “ _Why?”_

He smiles again and shakes his head. “That’s simple, Dave: it’s the job of the Knight to protect his Prince.”

                “I… I die to pro-protect _Dirk_?”

                “Something of the sorts.”

                Rose breaks from her blubbering and shouts at them. “ _Don’t listen to him, Dave! Don’t listen to him, he’s trying to manipulate you! He wants you as his pawn! You’re stronger than that!”_

                “No! No definitely not!” Mister Vantas shakes his head hurriedly. “I would do no such thing! The fact that you are my son’s brother only cements this fact. You should go now. Before the folds or ripples or _whatever_ in the fabric of time—is it even fabric? Whatever. Just, before they tear. Or… unravel. Wait, if it’s the ‘fabric of time’ why do they always say ‘tear the fabric of time’? Wouldn’t it just make more sense to say ‘rip in the fabric of time’ or ‘unraveling the fabric of time’? Whatever. Like I said, I don’t understand it. But… it’s dangerous out there. Take this,” he nudges forward a small metal chain with a single pendent in it. “Keep it under your shirt. Keep it hidden. Most people will attack you if they see it. Just know that those that wear it are friends. They are allied to my team—Team 216. Or, they were or their parents were, whichever it is, they are your allies. Your true allies. Direct people with it. Because everyone keeps it hidden, they write certain words specifically. To let others know. Like a quirk. Typically, it’s in the word ‘symbol’. The ‘b’ is a ‘6’ and the ‘o’ a ‘9’. Some people write any word that has the two letters together like that, but most just stick with the word symbol. Good luck out there, Dave.”

                “I come in here and you tell me all of this stuff—then, you tell me that I’m going to _die_ and you expect me to just _leave_?”

                “Dave,” Mister Vantas repeats and he rests his hand on top of Dave’s. He squeezes lightly. “I know I didn’t finish explaining everything to _you_ , but those that need to know, know. Trust me. We will get out of here and we will survive. Ignore your sister. She doesn’t understand everything as well as we’ve led her to believe. In fact, only you do.”

                “But I don’t understand _anything_.”

                “ _Exactly_.”

                “…Mister Vantas?”

                “Yes?”

                “What should I do? I’m so lost. I- fuck, why do I even _trust you_? Because you’re Karkat’s _dad_? That doesn’t make any sense! You could be lying right now! This necklace can be the thing that kills me!”

                “Oh, but I’m not. And neither will this. This is just a necklace. I wear one like it.” He arches his brow and smirks. “Aranea wears one. But, most of all… _Dirk_ wears one.”

                “No he doesn’t.”

                “He might not wear it anymore, but he did. Roxy or Rose probably wear it now.”

                “Why do I trust you?”

                Mister Vantas lifts his hands and signs something in sign language slowly, carefully and deliberately—the same way that Karkat taught Dave to sign the few things he knows how to do. His lips move, too. The two things do not agree, however. His lips say “I don’t know,” but his hands say “because you know Karkat would never trust me enough to let you come over and yet he already has”.

                And it’s true. If Karkat didn’t trust him, then he would have asked Dave to talk to him outside instead of hanging out in his bedroom. Karkat is the last person to trust someone without good reason….

                Dave takes the necklace with the Cancer symbol and pledges himself to helping them. It’s simple: he pulls the chain over his head and tucks the odd sixty-nine under his shirt. Mister Vantas reaches out and carefully plucks at his shirt until the collar hides it.

                “There are also people who pray to this symbol like it’s some sort of religion,” he adds at last, laughing. “Ignore them. They’re just… obsessed. Now go.”

                “I’ll… see you again before I die, right?”

                “I don’t know. I don’t do the Timey-Thing. I just train people how to not die. And I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you.”

                “…when I die, will you tell Karkat, Nepeta and Dirk something for me?”

                “What?”

                “Just… thanks. For everything. And that I, you know… I think they’re important to me… and stuff.”

                “Yes, Dave. That is something I most certainly can do.”

                He turns and leaves, shaking as Rose calls out for him, begging him not to go. His back presses against the wall and he breathes shakily as he tries to get himself under control again.  This is no time to break down. Everyone dies. They came into this knowing what would happen. Everyone dies. Everyone dies. _Everyone_.

                He wants to sob, but quells the burn in his throat.

                “Dave?”

                He looks up to see a younger ( _his_ ) Rose standing there. Her shoulders are slumped and her jaw is tilted in concern. Her eyes are studying him as if he holds all the answers to all her questions. “What are you doing coming out of the Employee’s Only room?”

                He swallows the burn, clears his throat and shrugs. “Looking for the toilet.”

                “There are clearly marked restrooms all about the Arena building.”

                He smirks. “Well, it’s gotta be a fuckin’ golden throne to hold the King of Irony, Lalonde.”

                “You do not even understand the correct use of the word, Strider.”

                He feels warm in his stomach due to her calling him by that name. His insides squirm and he fights down the childish smile that tries to creep up. “Unironically, of course.”

                “That’s Dirk’s catchphrase.”

                He leans in and pats her shoulder before walking away. Rose harrumphs, but he keeps walking. The last thing he hears out of her is a tiny giggle as she walks away. He hurries away as soon as he is out of sight. He runs, runs from it all, away from everyone. He goes to the place that Karkat expects him to be at. He goes to the roof.

                Someone is already there, though. She has one a pair of green-dyed pants and a green jacket with cat ears sewn to the top as well as a cat tail to the bottom. And, she’s leaning over the edge of the roof.

                “Mom?”

                She jerks and turns around, looking over her shoulder. She is smiling, but it slowly drops down as she sees him. “Dave? What’s wrong? C’mere.” He does so. He walks forward and welcomes her arms as they wrap around him. He turns his head down so that he is nuzzled in her shoulder, hiding, and—wow—wow, a mother’s hug really does help. He doesn’t want to die, but it’s a little easier to think about when his mom is wrapped around him like this.

                “What’s wrong, Dave?”

                “Nothing, mom,” he whispers. He has to swallow several times. “Nothing’s wrong. Just… needed a hug. Don’t tell Karkat.”

                “Of course not, darling.” She kisses the top of his head and squeezes him.

                “Mom… do you ever think you remember something from _some_ time you didn’t live through?”

                “Like a dream?”

                “No, mom. Not like a dream. Not at all.”

                “Like a different life?”

                “Sort of.”

                “Oh, yes, all the time. Duh. Why do you think we’re called Trolls? Well, you’re a Troll because I raised you so you’re a Troll by association, but the rest of us are Trolls because that’s the name of the race of beings we belonged to in the first universe we met in.”

                “And… you remember this?”

                “I never forgot.”

                “But… why?”

                “Well, I was the Rogue of Heart. I still am. Heroes of Heart are characterized by having multiple lives, ways of acting or beings. It’s… it’s kind-of like me and my role-playing or Dirk and his Shifting—he is, after all, the Prince of Heart. I had nine personas. Most of them died when I was little. Ok, wait. I had _eight_ in that universe, nine including this one. The only ones that didn’t die were my _actual_ life and my role-playing with my friends. That’s why my soul was ready to trade-over before the others, even if I wasn’t the first one to die! Because I was so used to the idea that it was just easier for me to find the body I could hook onto! That’s why I’m older than everyone.”

                “And that’s why you’re older than us? That’s why you raised Karkat and me?”

                “No of course not. I went through a time in my life when I thought I was delusional. But, I’ve been a Troll with two groups, right? There’s ours and there’s the one before us. I was called Cat. Dirk has probably talked about it, even if you don’t remember much about it. Well, during that time, your friends’ parents were the Trolls. Except for Kanaya’s though! Her mom came in the group right before ours! And she ended up caring for Karkat’s dad like I cared for you and Karkat. Only, he was, uh, eight when I was born? Ten? One of the two. He’s _really_ old. So I guess she raised me a little, but not by much, not really. And they all turned eighteen long before you guys were born…. Actually, I honestly think that they were the ones that first ran away so they could take part in SBurb Alpha! Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs the shoulder his head isn’t on. “Because they never came back. And then Karkat’s dad went through this _phase_ that he doesn’t like to talk about. N’oh well. Why do you ask?”

                “So you’ve known all this time that I’m a Hero of Time or- or whatever.”

                “Of course!” She giggles. “I mean, your metronome never left you. You didn’t get it until after you became God Tier, but even then!”

                “God Tier?”

                “Well, in that time, if you died on top of this special quest bed, you would become awakened as one of the final levels of the game, or—God Tier. You were the, uh, Knight of Time, I think? I don’t remember. I never actually _met_ you in that life.”

                “You didn’t?”

                “No. I died just before that.”

                “Oh…. But you died first?”

                “No, Feferi did. Technically, Aradia did, but a whole slew of time-related what-the-fuckeries later made it so that she wasn’t! And then Equius died and I died after that and this is where it gets hazy ‘cus’ my ghost wasn’t all that strong. I think Kanaya died, temporarily, in there somewhere, and Sollux, too, but hmmm…. Kanaya killed Eridan after that and Terezi killed Vriska who killed Tavros in there somewhere!”

                “Who killed you?”

                “Gamzee.”

                “This… this is madness.”

                “That’s ok,” she giggles. “It’s over now.”

                “Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s over now. I mean, we all die, right?”

                “Eventually,” she nods. “I mean, we’re only human, right? …well, that is still awkward to say, twenty-some years later.”

                “Twenty-some? You’re only fifteen mom.”

                “Ever the flatterer, Dave. I love you too.” She kisses his temple. “All better now?”

                “Yeah, all better. When’s Karkat getting up here?”

                “Soon.”

\-----------------

                Johnny finds him and Karkat napping on the roof after their sparring session. He gently wakes him and Dave greets him with a nod of his head. Karkat mumbles in his sleep and rolls over so that his head rests on Dave’s shoulder. Johnny gestures for him to come with him, but he shakes his head and lifts Karkat up in his arms, asking silently if he has the time to let him take him to their living area. Johnny nods and they walk inside. The burn of the sun on Dave’s skin leaves and his skin feels tingly as the doors close shut behind him.

                The walk to get to their living area is a lot shorter than the walk to the roof without all of the detours they took. No one is in the sitting room, so lying Karkat down in his bedroom (actually, in Terezi’s bedroom, in her bed, right beside her) is relatively easy (even if his arms go numb, but it’s worth that to see the way that she nuzzles up to him and he immediately drapes his arm over her side, like that’s where they belong). Johnny waits, obediently, outside of the sitting room for him.

                “Ok, done yet? Damn, you reek.”

                He arches his brow at him, but Johnny settles him with a smirk as he runs a hand through brown hair. “S’ok,” Johhny says. “I can stand it. I really need to talk to you though so, uh, walk with me? Talk with me? Is that how the saying goes?”

                “Last I checked which was, uh, two seconds ago?”

                “Kay, cool, this way.”

                “Sup?”

                “Nothing much, not really. At least, not with me. My sister’s pretty pissed what with everythin’ goin’ on with her. I was wondering if you knew anything about her and Matt?”

                “Nope.”

                “Well, if you haven’t figured it out yet, we’re on the same team.”

                “I was wondering…. I mean, how could it be just a coincidence that the two of you are suddenly back in my life? Both of you? On different teams? When the mysterious half-sister or step-sister or whatever of yours still has yet to play her hand? So, yeah, coupl’a my guesses had that you two were on the same team.”

                “Well, ok, got that cleared up. Here, let’s turn here.”

                “Ok.”

                “Well, ok, so, this is what happens right? Matt and my sister, Peach—no, before you ask, that’s not her real name. It’s Primrose, but after Hunger Games came out, she stopped going by it. Her favorite fruit is a Peach. It has nothing to do with Mario. She hates that the princess can’t even protect herself. She’s way to bad-ass for that. _Anyway_ ,” he clears his throat lightly. “So, they met at college, right? Well… they’re, um, kind-of, uh, engaged? In a way? Well, he hasn’t bought a ring yet, ‘kay? And they haven’t talked about it at all. The only reason I know is because he asked me for permission, yknow? Oh, no, no, wait, let’s turn here.”

                He shrugs. “Ok, cool, Matt’s off my back for the rest of forever. How does that explain what he was doing with Rose?”

                “He wanted your attention. You don’t sit around and watch the fights often, do you?”

                “No. Waste of time. I would rather be training.”

                “Just like a knight should say.” Dave stops in his tracks and stares at him. Johnny smiles gently and nods with his head, gesturing down the hall. “Well, anyway, Matt noticed, but he also figured out—like any sensible person _would_ —that you two are close. Ok, no, I have no idea how he put two and two together, but whatever. He’s smart like that. Don’t snort at me; you have to admit that he’s got _some_ brains Mister Four-Point-Oh GPA. Yeah. Tha’s what I _thought_.  Oh, turn here. Kay, well. He wanted your attention. And what did you do to him? He looked like he was ready to piss himself when he got back!

                “ _Anyway,_ anyway _, yes_ Peach knows about what… Matt did to you. He was really broken up over it when he explained it to all four of us.”

                “Four?”

                “Yeah. There’s me, Peach, Matt and Rosalina, y’know like that weird Princess-Queen girl from Super Mario Galaxy. When we first met and Matt realized that you were here (because I didn’t meet him until I got here), he was kind of shaky. I knew some of the stories from you, like, bits-and-pieces, nothing outright…. Why didn’t you ever tell me what he did to you, Dave?”

                He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not really something you _talk_ about, Johnny.”

                “Is that why you liked drinking with me?”

                “No, I _like_ drinking with you because you are _fucking hilarious_ when you are drunk off your ass. I like alcohol because, welp… because sometimes, late at night, I could almost feel Matt on top of me, doing the same things… and alcohol would make it all just go away. I don’t really disagree with my ‘childish actions’ like that, though. Because, ultimately, it led me to meeting Dirk… and I like being with Dirk.”

                “Even after… _you_ know?”

                “Yeah. Especially after that. Get back to your story. Matt was shaky?”

                “He felt horrible about it, but he didn’t really talk about it. Then he did that weird two-plus-two-equals-five thing, found Rose and got your attention. You said something to him and when he got back, he was a mess. That’s when he confessed everything. And… I mean, I knew he was pretty fucked up just by the way that he didn’t really despise fighting like I do—even though, those three, they don’t remember, not yet, I hope they never do. Turn here. But I’m getting ahead of myself, anyway. He told us everything. And, well, we’re best-buds so it took me a while to forgive him and even then I still haven’t, but Peach and Rosalina do. Or, as much as you _can_ forgive a rapist, right?”

                “Right…. Where are we going?”

                “Somewhere.”

                “Derp, tell me where.”

                “You’ll see. Where was I? Well…. Matt and Peach, unbeknownst to me, of course, um… they’ve—ugh, she’s my _sister_ I don’t want to think of this! U-uh, anyway, Matt and Peach have been, y’know, _going at it_ —“

                “Having sex.”

                “ _Oh that is so_ gross _when it’s my_ sister _bro! Would you want to think of that with Rose?”_

“How do you know we’re siblings?”

                “U-uhm, M-Matt told us exactly what you said th-that night.”

                “…ok.”

                “Well, see, the thing is… I, uh…. Ok! Ok, so Peach came to me a while ago and—oh, we’re almost there.”

                “Dude, are we going to the Infirmary?”

                “Yes. Anyway, Peach came to me and c-confessed that Matt, uh, he gave her an STD.”

                “R _iii_ ght….”

                “Well…. He’s only had sex with a handful of people… one of whom is you. And he tested positive for, uh, the clap I think? No, no, no, it’s chlamydia. I don’t really want to think about another guy’s junk like this, but yeah, I think that’s what it was.”

                “Are you telling me that you think I might have an STD?”

                “Well, maybe?” He shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. “I mean, it would be good to have you tested, even if you don’t! Right?”

                “About what percent do you think is likely that I _will_ have it, Johnny? C’mon. Seriously.”

                “Uh… eighty-five percent?”

                “Is this you being serious or another fuckin’ videogame reference?”

                “B-both?”

                “If I get screened, will that make you feel better?”

                “Yeah. Listen, man, I wouldn’t do this normally, but, you _are_ my best bro… so I want to make sure you’re safe. You know that, right?”

                “Yeah man. You going to be that pansy and wait with me or are you going to just let me do this on my own?”

                “I’m going to be the pansy.”

                “Fine by me.” He shrugs his shoulders and enters. There’s a receptionist that looks up, smiles, asks if he already has an appointment and hands over a stack of files and a pen when he confesses that, no, he doesn’t. He sits down and fills them out in silence. Johhny awkwardly pats his hands on his knees, hums a tune, then pulls out his DSi when Dave tells him to stop.

                He’s ushered into the examination room within twenty minutes of watching Johnny play the original Legend of Zelda: Four Swords, only on the DSi. The doctor takes the regular physical, then pulls on a pair of gloves. He’s rather courteous about taking the swabs, not bothering to look up at Dave afterward and not commenting on Dave’s embarrassed blush when he does notice it.

                “Is there any particular reason why you’re asking for a screening?” The doctor asks. “Has there been any discharge of any sort?”

                “No, not at all,” he shakes his head. “But… an old _partner_ of mine recently got screened and came out positive so I thought that, hey, maybe I should get checked, too. And, well, I’ve been with someone else since then, too. So I want to know if I have to make him go through with it.”

                “You probably should, just in case.”

                “Even though we’ve been doin’ it safe?”

                “You can never be too sure about it, Mister Winslow.”

                “When will I have the results?”

                “In three to four days. I’ll contact you when I have your results. Until then, I suggest abstaining from any sexual intercourse with your partner. It may just be cautionary, as I suspect, but on the off-chance that he is negative and you are positive, even one encounter can change that.”

                “Ok, yeah.”

                “Have a nice night, Mister Winslow. Good luck in your fighting.”

                “Thanks. You too, doc.”

                Jonny walks him to his dorm and he slips in quietly, going to his bedroom. He finds Dirk lying in the bed they typically use, mostly asleep. There really isn’t much room there, though, and he considers pushing the second bed toward him before turning the thought down. He’ll do it in the morning, he supposes.

                He kicks his shoes off, folds his sunglasses and slips under the blanket. Dirk rolls slightly to give him more room before folding his arm under the pillow. There’s just enough room exposed for Dave to rest his forehead on it. Then, Dirk wraps his arm around Dave’s back and forces his nose into his chest. Everything is Dirk—all of his senses, all of his thoughts. And all is well.

                Dave thinks that, maybe, if he has to die to protect this man right here…

                Yeah.

                He thinks he’s completely fine with that.

                “Sleep well, babe,” Dirk drawls.

                “Y’too.”


	27. Chapter 27

                Dave goes in to get his medicine three days later and keeps his head down when Rose catches him walking out of the Infirmary. He avoids Dirk like the plague for three days afterward, trying to build up the courage to talk to him again. Karkat notices it when he turns down a training session, but no one pressures him into it.

Dave spends most of his time in his “new” bedroom, hiding from everyone in his embarrassment. Sometimes, he goes to the past and watches Dirk’s fighting skill progress next to Lawrence and Jane. He is present in the waiting room as Roxy gives birth to Rose and as Jane gives birth to John, something that he tells no one else about because it’s a little more than awkward to say that you were there when your half-sister and your new-best-friend are born, yet they’re the same age as you. It’s very awkward, actually.

                Dave has just returned from a long excursion where he actually sat down and had coffee with Lawrence, Jane and John. Well, Lawrence and Jane, John was just a cute baby that Jane let him hold for a time. (In all honesty, Dave doesn’t really like coffee because it makes him feel like the metronome is going too slow, even though he knows it’s still one second at a time, but he drinks some anyway). He’s settling back, getting ready to sleep when—

                The door opens. He jumps five feet into the air and nearly has Royal Deringer in his hand until he realizes it’s just Dirk. It’s just Dirk, who calmly closes the door and who calmly turns the light on before sitting on the side of the bed. There’s this look in his eyes, honest curiosity and honest hurt.

                “Did I do something wrong, Dave?”

                “That’s quite the way to open a conversation, Dirk.”

                “Don’t avoid the topic too, Dave. I _know_ you’ve been avoiding me, at least do me the pleasure of feeling like you know I exist.”

                “I have to know you exist in order to avoid you, don’t I?”

                “Dave, you’re not helping.”

                “…sorry.”

                “Why are you avoiding me?”

                “It’s uh… I’m… look. I’m sorry, ok? Just… I didn’t do it because of something _you_ did…. Or, something I did.”

                “Then why?”

                “Be-because of… something Matt did.”

                “And he did…?”

                “…I’m really sorry.”

                “Dave. What. Did. He. Do.”

                “He… he gave me kluh-… he gave me something.”

                “And what did he give you?”

                “…hegavemechlamydia.”

                “You gotta slow down, Dave. It almost sounds like you just said he gave you an STD.”

                He shuts his eyes slowly and forces his eyes into his knees, which have somehow found their way to his shoulders. “I’m really sorry, Dirk.”

                Dirk runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep sigh. “Well,” he mutters, “did you know?”

                “Of course not!”

                “How not?”

                “Asymptomatic,” he whispers. “Can I please crawl under my bed and not come out?”

                “No, Dave, this is important. We gotta talk this out.”

                “..’kay, Bro.”

                “You should have told me when you first found out.”

                “I tried, but, but, well… I dunno. I just got so nervous! And I started asking myself weird questions and I- I chickened out.”

                “Weird questions? _How_ weird questions?”

                “… if I was still good enough to fuck. If I could even fuck you after this…. If you would break up with me after you found out.”

                “So, you started asking yourself _stupid_ questions.”

                Dave peeks one eye out at him before he nods slowly. Dirk reaches his hand out and rests it on top of Dave’s head before gently kissing his forehead. “When was the last time Matt raped you?”

                “Right before we got together.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “I am one-hundred-percent positive _on top of_ two hundred percent positiveness. Other than when I pulled him off of Rose, he hasn’t touched me.”

                “Other than the bruise during spring break.”

                “Doesn’t count. No sexual contact.”

                “So, the earliest he could have given it to you is before we got together, so over a year?”

                “Mmhmm.”

                “Then I should probably get tested, too.”

                Dave nods his head and bows it again. “I’m _really sorry_ Dirk.”

                “Would you have told me the moment you noticed something weird?”

                “I wouldn’t even have had sex with you if I even _remotely_ suspected it! But, I dunno. I dunno why I didn’t think he could give me something like that. At least it was something curable like chlamydia instead of something like Hepatitis or AIDS.”

                “Dave, come here,” Dirk whispers and holds his arms out. Dave shakes his head, so Dirk leans in and locks his arms around Dave’s body. Dave clings to him as hard as he can, then harder, until he even hears the other man make a noise in the back of his throat at the pressure. Dirk rolls over so that he’s on the bottom and situates Dave between his legs comfortably.

                Dave buries his face in his ribcage and pretends like he isn’t the largest asshole in the world.

                “If you turn out to be positive,” Dave whispers, “I owe you something. Big. Like, huge kind-of-big.”

                “You know what you’ll owe me?”

                “What?”

                “You’ll have to clean the apartment.”

                “… Where the hell do the smuppets go?”

                “Tha’s why they’re piled everywhere.”

                Dave chuckles lightly. “I’m sorry that I avoided you, too.”

                “Yeah, I noticed.”

                Dave tries to get Dirk to go back to his own room that night. He doesn’t. Dave doesn’t try for long.

\--------------

                Dave is in the middle of his trance, polishing the metal framework of Royal Deringer when a knock comes at his bedroom door. He jumps violently and slices his palm open on the edge of the blade. He curses loudly, calls for them to open the door and tries to find some sort of rag or sock to staunch the blood flow. Rose is in the doorway, looking honestly curious (which, all-in-all, isn’t a look that Dave is unused to seeing on her face) as she tells him that someone is in the sitting room waiting for him.

                First of all, he wonders when the fuck Rose got there. Then, he remembers that she, Dirk and Roxy practically live in this dorm rather than their own and brushes the thought off.

                Second, he wonders who the fuck would be looking for him.

                “I’ll be there in a minute,” he grunts.

                “The sink in the kitchenette would be better for you to bloody—more sanitary.” Rose comments. He settles her with a long, suffering look before he sighs and grabs the nearest sock, pressing as harshly as he can. He needs to stop the flow quickly. She gives another half-smile. “I’ll stitch that up for you if you wash it in there. Of _course_ Dirk taught me how to do that, Dave, don’t give me that look.”

                He rolls his eyes behind his glasses, picks Deringer up in his uninjured hand and walks out, following her to the kitchenette. He stops partway into the sitting room to see who is waiting for him.

                Dirk, Sollux and Karkat are glaring daggers at him. Roxy is doing it much more subtly behind her eight-PM martini, but the contempt is still there. Matt just brightens slightly seeing him, runs a hand through his hair and offers a small, reluctant, smile. Feferi and Nepeta look around the group, confused, trying to figure out why they’re glaring at the strange new visitor. Everyone else either doesn’t care, doesn’t notice the glares or is pretending to not watch behind whatever mindless activity they’re pretending to have busy them.

                “Hey Steve—Dave. David? I… I just wanted… wanted to talk to you.”

                Dave forces himself to move, follows Rose to the kitchenette and discards the sock to run his hand under the hot water. “What makes you think I’m going to talk with you, Matt?”

                “You… you could just… listen.”

                “Or you could just leave.”

                Oh, oh God, please, no, please don’t let this be when _everyone_ finds out. He doesn’t think he can handle that. He doesn’t think he can handle being in a room with Matt. He knows that if Matt presses something, he won’t be able to fight back. There is no way he could. If Matt wanted… wanted to have his way with him… the knot of pride that has been forming in his gut from winning all of these matches and battles tightens, warning him not to let himself down, but Dave knows that Matt is stronger. He also knows that the only reason Matt backed off last time is because he had been gone all week and Matt wanted to let him rest under the assumption that he had all day the next day. Dave barely curtailed his way around it. He thinks Peach might have had something to do with it.

                Dave knows that if Matt pushes it, he’ll be powerless to stop it. And he’ll just be back at square one.

                He feels like he already is.

                Rose calmly pulls his hand out from under the water, takes a glance at it, then places it back under.

                “I… this is pretty important, man.”

                “Everything with you is ‘ _pretty important_ ’.”

                “You remember that one time I told mom that it was ‘pretty important’ and you were all like ‘what, big bro, what? Can I do something to help you’ dah-dah-dah, blah-blah-blah? It would really help if you started doing that again.”

                “Dirk’s not in trouble, why the hell should I?”

                “I… get the feeling that you’re hinting at something far beyond what we’re talking about.”

                “I’m kickin’ you in the balls with it, Matt, not hinting at it.” Rose does the same thing with his hand, only this time she digs her thumbnail into the wound. He hisses and punches her shoulder. She takes it in stride.

                “C’mon, Dave, just play along.”

                Dave’s blood cools at that. Ice runs in his veins. How many times had he heard that phrase? How many times has he gasped out at Matt’s ministrations because of those three words? How many times has he _played along_ and let himself be taken?

                Even he doesn’t know.

                “Oh, oh, um, no, that’s, uh, that’s the wr-wrong thing to say, Dave. Davey? David? _Steven_? Oh, for fucks sake, just acknowledge me! I’m trying to apologize here!”

                Dave remains silent for another three seconds.

                In this time, Sollux stands up. Karkat tries to stop him, but Sollux shrugs it off. The other man stands taller than Matt, but he’s also lankier and more inclined to whips than the occasional sword that Dave acted like he never saw when he was eight and long before he got his name. Matt is stronger in the shoulders and his arms are well-toned. Sollux could possibly put up _some_ semblance of a fight for maybe thirty minutes, but Matt would win. Except, Sollux isn’t known for fighting blind. Maybe he could create a plan in that time? Who knows?

                “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Matt.”

                “Stuart—or, ah, Sollux now? That’s what the emcee introduces you as. Ca-can I call you that?”

                “I’d prefer it.”

                “Sollux, you, uh, don’t understand.”

                “Enlighten me.”

                “Sollux, it’s ok.” Dave calls. “Matthew, why don’t you wait next to the door? Sollux, sit back down. Let’s have Rose—holy _fuck,_ woman—“

                “There’s a piece of lint in it. I don’t want it to get infected.”

                “Fuckin’ _tell me that_ next time.”

                “Duly noted.”

                “—let’s have Rose finish stitching up my hand and I’ll… see what I can spare you.”

                Matt’s eyes light up, but the smile on his lips is rather forlorn. “Thank you, Dave.”

                “Just wait.”

                Rose pulls the lint out of the gash, turns the water off and leads him to the couch, where she places a wet rag (when did she wet it? _When did she grab it?_ ) on it and goes off to find the kit. She returns within seconds from Kanaya’s bedroom and sits down with clinical precision, the needle dipping into his flesh where she has it pinched together.

                Dirk leans forward and whispers in his ear. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Dave nods his head. “I can be there if you need me.” Dave shakes his head, then puts the hand not in Lalonde’s care on Dirk’s shoulder, pressing him down. He watches Dirk’s face until the other nods. Dirk presses his lips to Dave in a curse on Matt’s life. He feels somewhat better now that Dirk has threatened to remove the other man’s balls if he so much as _thinks_ of touching Dave. Dave pecks his lips as a final reminder to _stay put_.

                He asks Nepeta not to let any of them follow him—especially Dirk—as he and Matt leave.

                He hears Dirk curse rather violently as he shuts the door.

                Neither of the Winslow brothers say anything as they walk through the halls. They take the elevator to a couple of different floors, which they end up walking through before returning to the elevator, but Dave doesn’t know what to say to Matt and Matt, evidently, doesn’t know either. Eventually, they make it to the roof. The sun has fallen and there are two or three stars glittering in the night sky. Matt clears his throat rather viciously from where he stands at the edge of the roof.

                It would be so easy. So easy to just reach out and push and force Matt over the edge. It would be easy— _so_ incredibly easy. One push and _oops, it was an accident_. Matthew Winslow would no longer exist. He would be _dead_.

                Dave finds himself reaching out, just trying to push him over. Matt has turned around by the time that he realizes what he’s doing. Matt can see his face, he can see Matt’s, they’re looking through each other, like they always have, but, no, Matt is looking _at him_. He’s looking _at_ Dave, looking at what he is, _who he is_ , and Dave’s hand falters, falling to Matt’s side. Before he even knows it, Dave is clutching the back of Matt’s shirt and his face is buried in his shoulder.

                Matt’s arms wrap around his shoulders, hold him tight, but at the same time his hands are twitchy, uncertain. Matt makes a noise at the press of his sunglasses into his skin. Dave can’t find it in himself to move. He feels like his knees will give out if he even tries. Matt’s hands begin to, slowly, rub at his back like he did when he was really, really naïve and entirely _too young_ , the first few times that Matt had begun to use him. And even the thought of Matt raping him can’t get him to shove the other man off.

                Because Matt is still his brother, even through all of the anger and the misery that Matt has thrown him into; even through all the turmoil and upset that he’s caused, Matt is still his brother. Just like if Dirk were to wrong him, he would still forgive him. Because Dirk is still his brother.

                Matt’s lips press into the top of Dave’s head. He stills the flinch, just barely, and somehow he can’t quite pull away and look at him. He remains pressed to his shoulder.

                “I’m sorry, Dave.”

                He makes a small noise at the back of his throat.

                “Johnny told me… about what I gave to you. And I’m sorry. I- I never thought that I had…. I was asymptomatic, too. There were a few times… where I didn’t ray-… didn’t have my way with you because I knew I had an STD. And so, I’m sorry…. I should have checked. The one thing that I never wanted to give to you was an STD. Hell, I’d rather make you pregnant than do that!”

                Dave laughs hollowly, then smiles gently because he knows that the words slipping from Matt’s lips are as true as honey is sweet or a politician’s tongue is silver.

                “I’m sorry, Dave. So, entirely, sorry. For everything.”

                Dave squeezes his arms briefly to say ‘you’re forgiven’ because he can’t quite make his throat work after all. Matt tightens his arms back and they stand there for a long time. Under the starlight that had once bounced off of dreambubbles and amongst the trees that are as familiar as crater holes. Matt uses the gentle palm of one of his hands to smoothen the back of his hair down. Dave feels like he’s back at square one.

                Matt mutters another apology.

                He feels like he’s back in his bed with Matt over him, forcing him.

                But at the same time, he doesn’t want to stop hugging Matt. He doesn’t want to face reality. He just wants to hide here. Here, in his shoulder, he doesn’t have to remember that this man _raped him_ for _eight years_. He doesn’t have to remember that his cum tastes like the core of a pineapple after three days out in the sun. He doesn’t have to remember the unusual warmth of skin-on-skin after the bitter cold of eight years in The House. He doesn’t have to remember how Dave would try as hard as he could to get a smile out of Matt because Matt’s smiles are as few and far between as Dirk’s but somehow Dave had become infatuated with Matt’s smiles. Matt’s smiles used to encourage him. He doesn’t have to remember that Matt, at one point, had been his best role-model and the kind of man that he wanted to be.

                He doesn’t have to remember that all of that was ruined the moment that he woke in that hospital room and was forced to face the fact that this is, indeed, _rape_. Was rape.

                He doesn’t have to remember that here.

                But there’s a small part of him that grows warm as he realizes that Matt’s questing hands are only rubbing the confusion, the brokenness, out of him and his muscles. He’s only touching him platonically. Nothing is even brushing the small of his back. Nothing is tangling in his hair, pulling his head back and giving him room to bite at his neck. Nothing is. There is nothing here but his once-older-brother who is carefully consoling him.

                Dave hadn’t realized everything had hurt this bad until being in Matt’s arms had made it somewhat better.

                He feels like he has just betrayed Dirk, admitting that.

                “Dave, I still love you.” Matt admits. “And it’s still that… _that_ that got us… that got _me_ into this mess and dragged you down… and forced you to live with the repercussions of what I did.”

                “Matt….”

                “And I still want to fuck you.”

                “Matthew….”

                “And I still want to hold you down and make you scream, make you beg for release.”

                “ _Matthew_.”

                “And I don’t think that that will ever change.”

                “ _Matthew!_ ”

                “ _What?”_

                “If you really thought that you were going to do that, I would be on my back already. I would be under you and unable to fight back.”

                “ _I don’t understand this_.” Matt pushes him away, holds him at arm’s length, forcing Dave to meet his eyes through a shade of blackened glass. “Why? Why the hell are you hugging me? Why the fuck are you trusting me this close to you? _I don’t even trust myself this close to you_.”

                Dave shrugs his shoulders, bats the hands on his arms away and steps forward, resuming the hug. This time, he pushes the side of his face into Matt’s. It’s comfortable to feel the warmth of the other’s face against his again. But, at the same time, it’s not the same when another pair of shades _don’t_ press into his temple and the point of obnoxiously obtuse shades doesn’t press into the back of his skull… but this is a different brother and he didn’t expect that to happen.

                “Why, Dave?”

                “Because.”

                “ _That doesn’t help, Dave_!”

                “No,” he agrees. “But I don’t know why either. I just…. Thanks, I guess. For… being sorry.”

                The arms that haven’t yet quite hugged him back a second time flinch and briefly do just that. Then, they fall and Dave is left hugging Matt but Matt being obstinate about not touching him. “How has work been since I left, Dave?”

                “Boring. School?”

                “Dull.”

                “Peach?”

                “She’s a peach. Dirk?”

                “Sharp as a dagger.”

                “C’mon… I’ll walk you back to your dorm. I’m sure Dirk is pretty mad at you for not letting him follow.” Dave nods and allows him to do just that.

\-----------------

                Dave clings to Dirk after Matt picks him up, bridal style, and tosses him.

                He fucking tosses him.

                Dirk catches him.

                _But Matt fucking tosses him._

_Into the air._

_Where he can fall._

Matt is laughing and shutting the door behind him before he can even bite out the curses frothing at the corners of his mouth. Dirk shifts him around in his arms until he can comfortably be placed back on the ground with his arms still around Dirk’s neck. Dirk carefully does a preliminary exam, through-clothes, and barely comes out with an approving look. Dave sighs, smirks lightheartedly and steps into Dirk’s chest. He wraps his arms around Dirk’s waist and allows Dirk to hug him as if he’s an item to be possessed.

                Eventually—and with no explanation to the others—Dirk starts pushing him toward his bedroom. He doesn’t even bother fighting back and the moment that the door is closed behind them, his shirt is already off and he’s getting ready to undo his pants. Dirk makes a noise for him to hurry up, so he drops his pants and stands in only his boxers, waiting. Dirk does a secondary exam, eyes only, then pushes him back onto the bed to make sure there are no sore spots.

                Only after his sixth check does Dirk come away, satisfied with the results that Matt had not, in fact, touched him.

                “We just talked.” Dave reassures. “Or, really, he apologized. For, well, the STD.”

                “And?”

                “And then he started talking about how he wanted to fuck me and I made him shut up.”

                “Physically, I hope.”

                “I… uh, not exactly the same physical way that you’re hoping for.”

                “I swear to God if he so much as _touched you_ I will _flambé that motherfucker_.”

                “We hugged.”

                “Dave, that’s practically an invitation for him to rape you!”

                Dave takes Dirk’s face between his hands and kisses him. Dirk seems content to let his worries ebb into the action of tongue-on-tongue and follows Dave as he lies down on top of his bed. Dirk’s fingers play in the recesses of Dave’s hips until he’s thoroughly pleased and able to lie back uncaringly. Very quietly, Dave begins to hum the same lullaby he remembers from several lifetimes ago where he had trouble sleeping and Bro had troubles keeping him asleep elsewise.

                Dirk begins to relax and let go of the worry as he fixes himself on his side, lying beside Dave, his arm around his middle and his thumb stroking the side of one of the cans in Dave’s six-pack.

                “I went in for my STD check around eleven,” Dirk whispers. “Three to four days, he said.”

                “So we’ll know if _you_ can’t have sex by the time _I_ can, _great_.”

                Dirk chuckles, then kisses Dave’s naked chest. “Do you want to go get something to eat before we turn in?”

                “Not much of an appetite,” he confesses. “You?”

                “I’d rather lie here.”

                “Ok, no, we don’t both fit on this bed. Help me with this.”

                “What is ‘this’?”

                Dave gestures to the unoccupied bed across the room and the bedside table in between them. It takes them almost no time to move the table and then pick the bed up and drop it next to the other, but it’s a struggle and a fight to get the blankets to somehow stretch over both beds so they’re not sleeping with their own selves, just-so-happening to be beside each other. Then, just before he lets Dirk lay down, Dave checks both of the beds and takes the softer one of the two. Dirk gets the firmer one, holds his arm out and Dave happily settles down. He takes Dirk’s glasses off of him before he takes his own, setting them both on his nightstand.

                The door is knocked on ten minutes later and they call that it’s open.

                “Oh, sorry!” Jade giggles. “I… I’m not interrupting anything?”

                “No,” Dirk chuckles and his free hand reaches over to rest on top of Dave’s belly. “What do you need, kiddo?”

                “Um… Rose wanted me to make sure that Dave puts this”—she holds something up in her hands, some sort of small vial—“over his stitches before he falls asleep and before a fight. So, here!” She comes further into the room, hands it to Dirk, and then leaves as if Dave were asleep.

                Dirk, calmly, opens the vial, spreads the waxy ointment on his fingers and presses it into the skin around the stitches. There are probably six or seven of them on his left hand. It won’t make fighting too difficult, but it will make defense harder. It’s a damn good thing that he doesn’t use defense.

                “You’re so fuckin’ clumsy when it comes to swords,” Dirk chuckles. “It’s a wonder how they haven’t all broken in half yet.”

                “Make another snide remark about me and my swords and I’ll break yours.”

                “Just because my cock is larger doesn’t mean you can make jokes due to your inferiority complex.”

                “ _Dirk you motherfuckin’ jacka—“_

                Dirk silences him with a pair of jovial lips splitting just enough to let him bite at Dave’s ear.

                Dave knew he shouldn’t have told him about that weakness.

\---------------

                Dirk leaves to get his results, alone, and Dave paces around the room, biting at his nails, trying to polish his sword but giving up part-way through it, trying to do anything to get his mind off of whether or not he just condemned Dirk to having to say that, yes, he has had an STD before. He wants Dirk to be able to scoot through clean out of pure _luck_. Dave doesn’t think he’ll be able to live with himself knowing that he gave Dirk something like that.

                The older man gets back while Dave is rinsing some blood that had leaked out of the stitches (from his worried fists tightening) off his hand in his bathroom. Dirk sidles up behind him, wraps his arms around his waist and fixes his chin into the top of Dave’s head. Dirk watches as the water goes from light pink to clear as the blood flow stops. Then, Dave calmly turns off the water, pats his hand dry and rests both of them on top of Dirk’s. Dirk kisses his temple, the shell of his ear, the soft spot behind his earlobe, his jaw. Dave relaxes under his ministrations.

                “What’s the verdict?” Dave cautiously whispered. “Are you doing the week-long pill therapy like I had to or the one-pill-quick-fix?”

                “Neither.”

                “…huh?”

                “I’m clean, Dave. You didn’t give me anything.”

                He feels like he could cry for joy. Dirk smiles at his reflection in the mirror and Dave smiles back. It’s a stunning smile, the kind that only John could make look stupid by using it constantly. It makes color rise to Dirk’s tan cheeks. Dirk runs a hand through Dave’s feather white hair and kisses him. Dave happily complies.

                He feels like he just won the lottery.

\----------------

                “Can you do a fight with that shit in your hand?” Karkat asks late that night, long after Dirk has left with the others from Team 1111. Dave shrugs one shoulder, pauses what he was doing on his laptop and looks up at him, asking him to repeat the question.

                “Have you ever known me to back out of a fight regardless of my injuries?”

                “Remember that time that he had broken his shoulder but didn’t let any of us know until three days later?” Nepeta remarks. That’s enough of an answer for anyone.

                “Welp, I guess you’re fighting tomorrow then, Winslow. Or do you want Strider now?” The smirk is _knowing_ , as if he understands the comment he made to Matt. The sharp teeth that rest at the forefront of Karkat’s mouth poke out just barely. The sly lighting in his red eyes makes Dave feel comfortable. He reaches his hand out, Karkat takes it and they shake on it.

                Then, Karkat pulls him in close and hisses in his ear, “I don’t know what kind of deals you made with him, but I swear to gog if you so much as _think_ of betraying them, _I_ will murder you. Keep your eyes on Deringer, Strider. I don’t like seeing you with an heirloom of my family.”

                Dave merely chuckles, pats his shoulder and goes back to his DJ work. Karkat seethes.

                “Just don’t forget about the blades in your shoes, fuck ass.”

                “Already did.”

                “I _know_.”

\-----------------

                The fight that he is talking about is against, almost predictably, Team 1111. Dave feels like he has already fought everyone on that team despite having only faced Rose and Dirk. Everything is a little wonky in his head from his time traveling adventures. Still, he twirls Deringer around his hand like a knight of Camelot and waits to be released from the room, into the arena. He wonders which one he gets to face this time.

                He is announced into the arena under the name Dave Strider. His opponent is introduced as Dirk Strider. The doors open and he steps out, large smirk on his face as he readjusts his glasses with his injured hand. Dirk offers up half of a wave before unsheathing his katana.

                “So, how many of your students do you think there in the stands?” Dave asks once they get close enough to each other. They have two minutes to kill before the start of the fight. They’re supposed to use it to take cover in case they suspect the other of using long range attacks like bullets, but he doubts that he would even do it then.

                “Just about all of them, actually. I, unlike you, actually watch some of the other fights.”

                “Once we hit fifty teams and things start getting challenging, I might actually waste my time to do that.”

                “We’re at sixty-nine. We’ve pretty much predicted that it’s going to drop to fifty within the next few days. A week at most.” Dave snorts at the number. Dirk rolls his eyes but smirks nonetheless.

                “Hey, let’s just expedite the process. If you lose this match, don’t let your team ask for a rematch. If I lose, I’ll do the same.”

                “Works for me.”

                Dave shrugs. Dirk does too. They take a quick step away from each other and Dirk takes up his stance. Dave makes his. Then, the fight is called to begin.

                Dave hits his knees, swings his sword to the side, knicks Dirk’s shins, rolls forward, gets on his feet again. He parries a thrust. The sound of metal on metal skates through the room. Dave stumbles, Dirk pushes, Dave pushes, Dirk blocks. They attack, Dirk defends, Dave dodges. Dave catches Dirk’s sword with his own, twists, flings it to the side. Dirk smirks. “You’ve gotten better.”

                “Been trainin’.”

                “With?” 

                “Karkat.”

                “Should’a guessed. Kid was always too good.”

                Dave smirks, then makes a lunge at Dirk’s shoulder. It’s deflected. Sweat beads down his forehead and down the side of his face, wets the collar of his shirt, the hair at the nape of his neck hangs in heavy locks. How long have they already been at this? The metronome says half an hour. It feels like three minutes.

                “He didn’t teach me anything.” Dave jumps back and to the side, avoiding the arc of a well-placed attack. It would have taken out his shoulder had it hit. “He just reminded me of what _you_ taught me, Bro.”

                Dirk chuckles lightly. “You sayin’ that I taught you to fight this shittily?”

                “Oh, no, even worse. I also remember what I had to fuckin’ record, _hours on end_ , so that you could have it when you were born again. Needless to say, _four centuries later_.” Dirk chuckles, smirks, and braces the sword again. “It pretty much makes up for the difference.”

                “You little shit.”

                Dave winks behind his sunglasses. Evidently, Dirk understands without seeing his eyes that that’s what he did. Dave dodges backwards at another swing, then jumps forward and _jumps_. He’s behind Dirk before the other even recognizes it. He rests his hand on Dirk’s shoulder as he vaults over him, then adds “you have a long way to go if you even think you’re going to slice me, lil’ bro.”

                Dirk chuckles, spins and catches the edge of Dave’s sword. Dave uses the momentum to spin and land on his feet. He nods his head. Dirk figures out that he needed that to happen to do that. Dave is a tricky little bastard.

                Dirk is gone.

                Dave spins around just in time to knock away the flashstep attack. Then, he jumps backward and makes his own flashstep attack.

                The metronome says one hour and eleven minutes.

                Neither of them have laid a single hit on the other. Dave’s shirt is soaked all the way through. Dirk’s is turning slightly yellow where parts of the wet patch have dried. Dave wants to lick the lines the sweat is fleeing down off of his skin. He also wants to take off his shirt. Dave feels compelled to add Dirk’s shirt to the list.

                He doesn’t even register the pain until his chest is against Dirk’s arm and the handguard of the katana is cold through his shirt. It takes him a minute to realize that the world has gone eerily silent… and that the entire blade of Dirk’s katana has suddenly pierced his torso.

                Someone in the crowd _screams_ the number thirteen. Eleven others join.

                He turns his head up and smiles at Dirk. Blood on his teeth from where he bit his tongue. Dirk’s eyebrows pinch together.

                One hour and fifty-eight minutes marks when the blade pierces Dave’s body.

                Dave’s hand weakly comes up and wraps around Dirk’s wrist. There are quiet murmurs in the crowd. Dave, very carefully, steps backward, pushes forward and keeps going until the katana is no longer in him. His legs shake violently and his has to tighten his grip on Deringer to keep it from shaking. The pain is coursing through his entire being. His eyesight wavers. Dirk takes a step forward, trying to tell him not to fight, to just withdraw, because he needs medical attention. 

                He hears Feferi’s voice call out to him, tell him to keep going because “ _Trolls don’t have the luxury of giving up_.”

                That’s all he needs.

                “Mind if I take off my shirt?” He offers. Dirk’s brow pinches, still worried, but he shakes his head. Dave strips it off and throws it away. It either hits the ground or hits the crowd, he doesn’t care to look. It’s obvious now that the sword truly did shishkebab him, blood running down both his front and back. There’s a warm sensation though, like someone thrust a warm, glowing white ball inside of him, and the blood is moving sluggishly. He holds his sword at the ready. Dirk shakes his head.

                Two hours exactly and the fight hasn’t been called yet.

                Dave should have lost and he knows it.

                He turns his head to look up at the ledge. Meenah and Doc Scratch are standing there, smirk large on the woman’s face as she lifts her hand and makes a twirling motion.

                She wants the fight to continue.

                He must have pissed her the fuck off.

                Dave warns Dirk that he needs to fight again. Dirk shakes his head.

                Dave warns him one last time. Dirk ignores it. He moves expertly. He slices open Dirk’s shirt and stains it with the blood from his chest. Dirk hisses, winces, and removes his own shirt. They arm up again. Dave strikes. Dirk blocks. Dirk blocks.

                He blocks over and over again, now on the defensive.

                Dave hates it.

                “You’re really killing the mood.”

                “Dave I just fucking _impaled you_.”

                Dave leans in close, grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. Half of the crowd cheers. The other half groans. “Do you trust Feferi?”

                “Do I have any reason not to?”

                “ _Then trust that I won’t die_.”

                Dirk scans his face, confused.

                “Look, it’s been two hours and one-and-a-half-or-so minutes. They still haven’t called the fight.”

                “They want us to kill each other.” Dirk swallows heavily.

                “Yeah. And I can’t kill you, Dirk.”

                “ _I can’t possibly kill you, Dave_.”

                “Then fight me. Prove to them that both of us are needed.”

                “Needed _for what_?”

                “A… long story. I don’t even know all the pieces to it.”

                “…ok.”

                “So we fight.”

                Dirk kisses him again, then pulls away and shows the red of his bloodied sword. Dave makes another hit on his waist, over a scar from the last time they fought.

                And they go at it again.

                Dave is panting, light headed, unsure how to go on. Blood pulses in his entire system, his head hurts, he knows he doesn’t have much left. There is _so, so much_ blood on Dirk. He looks just the same. Ready to pass out. Not willing to.

                He glances up.

                Lawrence is on the ledge now, talking with Doc Scratch. Lawrence has put on a few years, his hair has thinned and his eyes show but at this distance Dave still can’t see what color they are. Lawrence nods at him, then turns and goes inside, Meenah in tow. Doc Scratch calls the fight a draw at three hours fifty-two minutes.

                Dave sheathes his sword immediately. Dirk does the same. They turn without touching and go to their respective sides of the arena. Karkat bursts forth from the waiting room. Catches him as he begins to fall and wraps Dave’s arm around his shoulders. Dave tries to fight him off. Karkat holds him in place. Eridan takes up his other arm as soon as they’re inside and Feferi presses her hand into the wound. She smiles gently, leans in and whispers in his ear,

                “Not all of us lost our powers.”

                He doesn’t remember her ever having them, except for the dreambubbleselves—of whom, really, he only ever met. He doesn’t remember meeting Alpha-Fef. But, that’s ok with him, because she smiles gently and the glowing hot ball in his side grows warmer and spreads. He manages as much of a smile as he can until Karkat bats her toward Terezi and they help him limp to the infirmary.

                He doesn’t have to be put unconscious though. Instead, the doctors—completely unsure of how this could have _possibly_ happened—merely cauterize the wound and staple it shut, _just to be sure_. Then, they give him some heavy duty pain meds as well as a muscle relaxant to keep from pulling at the edges and send him on his way.

                He finds Dirk pacing back and forth in Dave’s bedroom. Dirk tackles him, his entire body wrapped in medical bandages and gauze. He lifts him up, presses his back into the wall and shoves his tongue in so deep that Dave can taste Dirk’s tonsils. He moans into his mouth. The fire from the fight is back.

                It’s back and he’s panting immediately, clawing at Dirk’s belt. Dirk’s hands are at his. Dave wraps his legs around Dirk’s waist, bites at his lips and growls “ _if you drop me, this is over_.” Dirk shudders and bites his collarbone. Dave groans, cheering breathlessly as the belt loop finally comes undone. He tugs it off of Dirk’s body, claws at his shoulders and he bites at the older man’s neck. He laps at it, kissing the pain away as Dirk pulls him off the wall, throwing him on the bed with Dirk still on top.

                “Your side?” Dirk demands.

                “Mostly healed.” He gasps, groaning as teeth scrape at his nipple. He tugs at Dirk’s pants until the button comes undone then pushes the zipper down, kicking the denim off the other man. Dirk removes Dave’s pants, boxers and all, without a single hitch. “On heavy meds, though. Don’t want the muscles to bunch up around it, either, so they got me on that shit, too.”

                Dirk licks a long line up Dave’s chest, his fingers flick a nipple, Dave _moans_. Dave bats his sunglasses off before tossing Dirk’s aside. Dirk chuckles, kisses him and wedges a thigh between Dave’s legs and he thrusts back at it.

                “ _Dave_ , do you think you can stay on the bottom?”

                His fingernails scratch long lines up Dirk’s back. Dave’s face and toes feel suddenly very, _very_ cold. “It’ll be quicker,” he confesses. “Already loose from the drugs. Haven’t fucked in a while. Think you can do it?”

                “Know I can.”

                “It might... take a while. If it happens at all.”

                “Got all day.”

                Dave smirks and bites at his lips. Fingers spread him for a moment, checking how loose, but _everything_ is loose, it’s a wonder how he even got to his room. Dirk grabs the condoms and lube out of the bedside table, pulls both on, almost in the wrong order, and slicks Dave inside.

                Then he pushes inside. Dave, _oh God,_ Dave feels _incredible_. It’s been too long since he felt this way. It feels like they _just started_ their first fight, like they were fucking for the first time, but _it’s so much better_. He feels breathless, windless, unable to get breath _and he loves it_. Dirk is over him, _in him_ , everything to him. There are teeth pulling blood at his collarbone, trying, waiting for him, and Dave can’t even form words anymore. He wraps his legs around his waist again and thrusts down onto him. He arches off the bed. Oh, God, is this, oh God, what are _words_?

                Dirk thrusts back. Dave moans in the back of his throat. Dirk pulls back until he’s barely inside, then thrusts again. Pushes in all the way, one go. Dave’s head flings back as he hits the sensitive space around his prostate. Not exactly his prostate but _fuck_ if it’s not _close enough_. He bites his lip, holding back a cry as Dirk’s lips fix to his Adam’s Apple.

                “I want to hear you,” Dirk commands, then pushes. Dave moans, his nails digging into Dirk’s back. Dirk hisses, pulls back and _pushes_. Dave cries out as he nearly hits it, _it’s right there, towards the left, no my left idiot, oh God—there! Right there! Don’t you_ dare _hit anywhere else._

 _“Fuck, harder, harder, Dirk,_ more.”

                Dirk chuckles, bites at his ear and does just that. Dave moans in broken words and short gasps. Words can’t explain it. He thrusts back just as Dirk comes forward. Perfect tandem but _fuck_ does his dick _ache_. It aches to the point that tears bundle in his eyes and he’s reaching down, trying to jack himself off, but, no, Dirk gets there first and he flicks his thumb over Dave’s head as he pulls out, hitting the base as he pushes in.

                _And he keeps that up_. He keeps it up, getting more and more vicious as the spring in Dave’s gut coils, tighter and tighter, his balls _ache_ he just _needs to cum_ , please, he’s practically _begging_ at this point and _what is English anyway?_

                Dave’s jaw drops open and he nearly _screams_ as his orgasm takes him. Dirk keeps going through the whole thing, thrusting and pumping until he comes as the last strand of cum spurts on Dave’s chest.

                Dirk doesn’t move, shaking from his spent moments over him, still in him, and Dave can barely coordinate his limbs well enough to unlock his ankles and pull his legs off of his waist. Dirk doesn’t exactly know what to say as his lips whisper kisses at the bites and at the hickeys no doubt on his ears. Dave, reluctantly, takes his hands off of Dirk’s back, braces them on his shoulders, and helps him pull out. Dirk pulls the condom off, ties it and by the sound of it, it landed inside of the trashcan across the room. Dave doesn’t actually look. Dirk collapses on top of him, smearing the cum between their chests. He hisses in pleasure as the weight kicks in over him. After a few minutes, Dirk gets up and goes to get a rag from inside the bathroom. There are angry red marks all over the entire expanse of Dirk’s back from where his fingers dug in.

                Dave jokingly hides his face under his pillow and holds it there with his arms.

                Dirk chuckles, kisses his neck and his stomach quivers as the cool rag pulls at the still-wet semen. Then, it all disappears. He hears Dirk walk back, feels him roll over him and wrap his arm around Dave’s waist.

                “Your elbow is in my face.”

                “M’not sofry,” he speaks through the pillow. Dirk kisses the point of his elbow and chuckles.

                “What’s wrong?”

                “Noffin’.”

                “Did I not live up to your expectations or something?”

                Dave chuckles and opens the pillow just enough to peek out at him. There’s a satisfied glow to Dirk’s eyes, his smile is gentle and he’s being _entirely_ sarcastic in that ironic Strider way that he’s _not_.

                “I’ve never been that _loud_ before,” he admits.

                Dirk chuckles, then pushes at the pillow until Dave is free. He doesn’t fight back instead following Dirk’s trapping glance, moving closer and closer until he presses their fronts together and their lips lock in a chaste, energyless, kiss. Dirk pulls the blanket up around their waists in case someone walks in on them and Dave tucks his nose under Dirk’s. Amber eyes catch red and it’s impossible to look away.

                “So what do you mean ‘nearly healed’?”

                “Not everyone lost their powers. I mean, you’re the one who first made me acknowledge mine.”

                “Uh-huh…. And, this person with mystical powers bestowed upon them by a video game was…?”

                “Feferi.”

                “I should have guessed.”

                “You really should have.”

                “Go to sleep, Dave.”

                “I feel like I could sleep until morning.”

                “It’s four in the afternoon.”

                “I feel like I could sleep until noon tomorrow.”

                Dirk chuckles, kisses his neck one last time and locks Dave in by an arm around his waist. Dave loosely wraps his arm around Dirk’s ribcage.

                It takes him a moment to realize that he’s lying on the harder bed and Dirk is stuck with the softer side.

                He laughs lightly, but doesn’t bring notice to it.

\-----------------

                Karkat returns to the room around eleven that night with Roxy close beside him. He flops down and hits the couch hard, rubbing at his face.

                “What’s wrong, Kark?”

                “They’re going to start holding three-way fights to get the show rolling. Our first one is next week. On the other hand, Team 6-12 and 11-11 are allied now. That’s always good. No more Striders killing each other. Promise me you won’t get impaled again?”

                Dave rubs the back of his head into Dirk’s leg. Dirk, who is sitting behind him on the couch and weeding locks of his hair together into small braids and fitting them with little orange bows chuckles as he finishes another one. “If you mean by a metal sword then yes.”

                “ _Dave I did not need to know that about your sex life_.”

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                “You just made a joke about how you bottom!”

                “Are you kidding me? Dirk takes it up his ass more than I do.”

                “ _Dave he’s my fucking sword fighting teacher! That is not something I_ ever _wanted to know!”_

Dirk, however, just laughs and tilts Dave’s head back, kissing his forehead.

                “So, why…?” Roxy vaguely waves her hand at them. Dirk and she go back and forth over “why what” and she attempts to describe him braiding his still-wet hair. According to the metronome, Dirk does a half-assed job of trolling her before she finally asks “why are you braiding his hair?” for five minutes.

                “Why not?” He returns.

                Dave snorts. “He was making stupid comments about how my hair is always naturally straight. So I was all like ‘if you can get it to curl go ahead’. And he made this stupid thing up about braiding Rose’s hair when she was really young and I thought he was kidding but it turns out he wasn’t.”

                “And the bows.”

                “ _Obviously_ if I’m going to be a fuckin’ sexy, ironic princess I _have_ to have a bunch of ironic bows to fit the image.”

                “Where did you _get them_?”

                “Don’t question me when it comes to raiding Rose’s room.”

                From somewhere in the kitchenette, a hand towel flies through the room and smacks Dave in the face. He chuckles and throws it back.

                “I had an old bandana hangin’ around that I wasn’t ever going to use, so Dave helped me cut it up and we set aside the ones with the black parts to it.”

                “Do I want to know what for?”

                “Roxy, you’re asking me, Dirk Strider, King of Robots and God of Sex, what I’m hiding little bits away for.”

                “If you’re God of Sex then why is Dave topping?”

                “Gotta learn your uke before he thinks he’s uke.”

                “Whatever Dirk you’re never getting in my ass.”

                Dirk chuckles brilliantly, bends his head back again and plants a long kiss on his lips. Dave puts his hand on the back of his head and holds him there, pushing his tongue into Dirk’s mouth for a long, lazy kiss. It lasts until Kanaya wolf whistles and Dave flips her off. Then it’s right back to Dirk braiding Dave’s hair. There are already more than a few handfuls of layers of them, one after the other, all about the size of a mechanical pencil. They hang in waves starting at the base of Dave’s scalp and working its way up. Dirk is already on the last level of them. Dave thinks that his hands must ache from all the repetitive motion-working and the small area he’s giving himself to work in.  Dave’s head feels kind of heavy from the odd placement of the weight of his hair.

                Still, Dirk works on it like a dedicated warrior and doesn’t once complain. Eventually he gets to his bangs, which can only handle three braid locks and hardly any twists. Dave thinks he must look ridiculous in a bunch of wet braids and a pair of sunglasses, but he rolls with it anyway. He pushes himself up onto the armchair next to Dirk, wriggling his butt in until Dirk lifts him up and sits him on his lap, wrapping his arms around both of them. Dave kicks his feet over the arm of the chair. Nepeta looks up from where she is doodling in her book, reaches out and fwaps one with one of her make-believe paws. He lets her have at it until she tries to eat one of his laces—far even for her—and he calls for Kanaya to get him a water bottle. Rose throws it across the room.

                Dave takes a quick drink from it, then aims the easy-access drinking-top at her and squeezes it. Nepeta hisses, jumps over the back of the couch and runs out of the room. Roxy, giggling, follows.

                “What _the fuck_ did I just see?” Dirk demands. He doesn’t sound like he actually wants to know.

                “She, uh, takes role-playing to an extreme sometimes,” Karkat supplies. He takes the moment to look back at her before returning to looking at the two Striders occupying the same hundred electrons. “She usually only takes it that far if she’s worried about someone.”

                “And who would she be worried about that much?”

                “How about her son who was just run-through with a sword and claiming to be perfectly fine?”

                “Can we stop talking about the whole… impaling thing?”

                “I don’t care,” Dave shrugs, leans back and puts his head on Dirk’s shoulder. “There are some promises that are not able to be broken.”

                Karkat looks between the two of them, eyebrow arched and curious. “What promise?”  
                “On the way here, there was a semi-truck driver that nearly totaled the car. _Would_ have killed us, too, if we hadn’t pulled over in time. So, Dirk made me promise him that I wouldn’t die if he could do something about it and I made him promise the same thing.”  
                He nods his head and kicks his feet over the edge of the couch. He and Dave have a quick foot war over who gets the space, but it ends when Dirk yanks Dave’s feet a little higher up and glares at Karkat. Dave slaps his shoulder, Karkat looks embarrassed and Dirk pretends like it never happens.

                “Ok, so, three way fights?” Dave mumbles. He tilts his head back and cushions the bend of his neck on the opposite arm. One of Dirk’s hands plays with making the muscles in his stomach squirm and the other tickles the sensitive spot behind his ear. “And we’re allied now so what’s that mean?”

                “Means that we can’t fight each other anymore. Damn good considering you always seem to almost get yourself killed from it.”

                “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

                “You almost fell off the side of the cliff.”

                “Hardly any danger there.”

                “It’s a miracle that you even _managed_ to not die when you were fighting Gaspard. You lost your sword and sold your soul to my father to get another one.”

                “The price was nowhere _near_ that of a soul, I can guarantee you that.”

                “ _Either way_ the agreement you made with him to get that sword was still _way too much_ considering you could just make a new one.”

                “We’re off topic, Vantas. Three way fights. Let’s _attempt_ to stay on topic this time.”

                “It’s eleven at night what the hell do you expect?”

                “Tea, cake and little cubes.”

                “I think of Nepeta.”

                “Yeah… so do I.” He shrugs, takes another drink from the water bottle and hands it to Dirk. Dirk, predictably, uses it as an icepack on the rather deep cut across his chest. “Three way fights entail what?”

                “They mean that we’re going to start having two teams against those fuckin’ knight-drone-things. Those weird guys who have the red armor with the forks and the odd symbols on their chests. The ones we tricked into thinking that the moment that Nepeta got captured we would turn on each other? Yeah those fuckasses are going to try and brownnose their way in between a fight. Only one team can come out victorious though. This means”—he raises his voice and sends a bad look towards Terezi, who is with Kanaya and Rose in the kitchenette—“that we can’t fight blind anymore. We have to know about our enemy!”

                “I resent that, Karkles!” She calls back.

                “What are you even _doing_ in there?”

                “Baking cupcakes.”

                “Why…?”

                “Because we want chocolate and I want to shove it in your face.”

                “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

                “Just you wait, Karkles!”

                Dave smirks to himself listening to their lighthearted snark. They come up with it so quick, the chemistry between them so high and mighty that it’s almost too bittersweet to think that they still haven’t acted on it too much. It’s something that Dave knows that he would miss if something happened to either of them.

                And then he remembers that he’s going to die and all of this will be gone. He’ll have moved on or back or maybe it will all be _nothingness_ but no matter what, this snark and bullshit and the feeling of warmth from being in Dirk’s arms for even a millisecond will be _gone_ and he doesn’t quite know what to think of that. He’s going to _die_ and he won’t be able to laugh at his friends anymore. He won’t be able to laugh _with_ his _family_ anymore.

                Eventually, Dave manages to excuse himself and goes to his bedroom. He hears the door open after him not even two minutes later, as he’s in the middle of pulling his shirt off. Dirk’s arms slip around his middle and his thumb teases a love-bite on his waist from the sex they had earlier that day. Dave leans against him.

                “What’s wrong?” Dirk asks. It’s not quiet and it’s not a whisper, but Dave didn’t expect it to be. Dirk isn’t the quiet, understanding type and, honestly, if that was the voice Dave was to hear, he would break down and cry. He’s never been afraid of death. It’s always just been _there_ , a fact of life, but Dave knows now that he’s going to die—and soon—and he isn’t sure how to respond to that. Everything is both an achy, dark hole and an oversensitive spark of life. He’s scared and frightened but most of all he isn’t sure how Dirk is going to react to him being dead. He would be devastated if Dirk suddenly up-and-died, then found out later that Dirk knew he was going to.

                “Nothing,” he responds. “I just got really tired all of the sudden.”

                “Liar.”

                “Mmhmm.”

                He feels Dirk place a small kiss to the back of his neck. “Are you in pain?”

                “No.”

                “Is something _wrong_ at all?”

                “No, no, I’ve just been… thinking.”

                “And?”

                “There’s a timeline that this one branched off of.”

                “I’m going to pretend like I understand for a single second and follow you. Whatever it is, just say it, ignore any confused looks I’ll give you.”

                “I’m not even looking at your face.”

                “Regardless. There’s a timeline that we branched off of?”

                “In it, Terezi went blind. Like she was supposed to.”

                “Ok.”

                “Well, because of that, everyone on Team 6-12 died. Except me. And the majority of your team died, until it was just me, you an’ Jane. Then, you die and I can’t really figure my head out and I can’t get passed the fact that you’re _dead_. Jane dies trying to protect me… and then, I turn to Lord English and agree to work for SBurb Gamma instead of dying myself. And when that happened, that me went back in time and told me about it so that I could prevent it… but I’ve been thinking.”

                “About?”

                “Well… it’s fully possible that we’ll die in here. More than possible, it’s probable. We’re not immortal gods, after all; we’re just human. So… if I die and you don’t, I want you to move on. Find another man, fall in love with him and not the stupid past-life-time-love we have, too. Real, this-life-time-and-only-this-life-time love. Hell, maybe even with Jake. I just want you to move on and not hold me dying against me.”

                “Dave, you’re not going to die.”

                “I’m _just saying_.”

                “Ok, fine. If you die, I’ll move on.”

                “Promise me.”

                “I promise that if you die, I’ll eventually move on. It’s not going to be immediate, but I’ll move on. Deal?”

                “Deal.”

                “And if I die, I want you to know the same thing. Move on, find someone else. Promise me.”

                “Ok. I promise. Now,”—he takes a deep breath, turns in his arms and kisses the side of his neck before pushing him toward the bed—“it’s time to sleep.”

                Dirk falls backward and drags Dave with him. Dave chuckles and wrestles with the blankets before settling under Dirk’s outstretched arm.


End file.
